Sneak-Peek of Chapter 22, "Illys Laktle"

When Wen awoke, the two were already sitting on the ground, glaring at each other through sullen eyes, and Wen went about a "kilometre" to wash herself in the stream, and she felt the water gently hug her figure. She had found a mossy stone nearby, and as she stood, half-naked, in the blinding morning light, scrubbing at her body.

She was beginning to go through puberty, and so now had a few pimples on her forehead. At home she'd been able to wash her face with soap, but this time the girl simply kneel down and was on her knees, for she didn't want any passers-by through the grasslands to see a nude child. Damsel in distress. Oh bother.

Then, the kid put her dress back on, affectionately stroking the top part, but at the same time she thought of how she always felt more comfortable with her body when wearing shorts. Huh. She was weird, wasn't she??

And then Wen went back, but she stopped behind the Australian-wattle-like tree, holding her breath, for the two adults were bickering frightfully. At first, Wen thought it marvellous that she was like a book heroine, standing behind a big plant and listening in to a ... secretive conversation?? But the colour drained from her face when she heard the following...

"If ye don't softe' the lordling's heart, then may-bee I'll kill the gurlle," The dwarf grinned, lips curling. He touched his pocket knife at that and the woman tensed. "I don't expect ye to make 'im fall to yarr knees, bu'..."

"I understand, I'll do what I can," and then, the woman went over - knelt down, falling to her knees, and kissed the dwarf softly on his lips. Wen almost gagged. Sure, she'd seen teen movies and Game of Thrones but of course, she just couldn't endure the sight of kissing - softly as slowly, as if one's mouth were a feather or a cheese pudding.

The dwarf was surprised, but he didn't push away, and simply mumbled something. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew eeeeek.... I gotta punch somethinn'... the girl thought to herself in disgust. This was beyond okay, and the fact that she was here, now, overhearing - heck, seeing this thing be done - she felt helpless.

And that was when the girl crossed a meter to the South; the two couldn't see because there was a thick, vine-crept fence in front of them - where the last grave ended. Wen was still afraid - why on earth would Euginie begin to dig up a grave, and then fall asleep, and now kiss this unknown creature..? Well, the girl did not wish to guess, and she now held in between her fingers on her right arm a sort of twig. It wasn't like the ones the woman and the dwarf used - it was thick (for its' size), and knobbly, and not smooth!

But that was when the "inner bull", as Lilliane would whisper into the girl's ear when the teacher wasn't looking, when she was feeling particularly nasty - kicked in. It charged at a man holding up a red flag, and snot came out of its' nostrils but still it leaped up. And Een was like this; her eyes darkened, the little brown chestnuts, no spark in them. Her lips were suddenly a thin line, because being this inappropriate involved some sly skill, and she hated to think of that. So, if those two weirdos could cast spells with sticks, then so could Wen (she'd seen Euginie "invent" a blanket for them to sleep on)!

The girl marched swiftly in behind them, crossing back - making a U-turn by the fence - and stood, hands shaking in anticipation, eyes moist and breath caught in her throat. She choked soundlessly, clutching at her throat, and then gulped at air savagely... hopefully, the two were rather absorbed - ahem - to hear anything, and snorting and other sounds could be heard in the distance of five meters.

Now, Blodwena held the stick even tighter in her hands, and tried remembering a Latin lesson that she'd been taught about in Year Four, back when she still went to a private school (the girl had had to move as her parents lacked much money)... "Right," she told herself under her breath, thinking hard "Right... What I want to say, is - exactly - ...DECIDANT GENUA MALUM!" And she raised her stick, just as she'd seen Harry Potter do it, and spat out those words in a violent whip, each word a separate stroke.

What dear Wen had wanted to say "let them fall to their knees", which lacked the important word sua, instead she had used her last word as "malum" which was, inconveniently, an apple. Thus, as she said those words, a brussel sprout began coming out of the tip of the twig, and it stretched so long in a matter of picoseconds (in Earthian Time), that one second later everything had changed, and Wen only had to blink once to not be able to ever again witness the magic of her first spell.

In fact, apple or no apple - a spout had risen up - and out the tip of the twig - so that it looked quite funny - it had blasted out in a mass of energy and somehow managed to grasp the dwarf by his lower lip and yank it aside, so the creature howled and his toes most likely curled.

"Thffffff—" he spat out "—ease..." , but the plant only yanked more and more. Euginie stood, shaking, staring, dumbstruck, and crying. Tears streamed down her face, her hands curled and she screeched out a rude word. "—"

"Don't say it," Wen told her warningly. "I have... this... mighty thing!"

The woman glared. All previous light had gone out of her face, and she marched to Wen, fingers digging into the chin of the girl as she held up her face. "You little... insolent brat-face mahogany!" She yelled. "My baby... you ambushed him, stupid traitor!! And you aren't even the One... not the Helper... oh, it has been a mistake!"

Wen round-house kicked Euginie just below her stomach, and then shot a punch at her breasts. "What in the blood did you say??" She howled. "What in the stupid earth and this dwarf who you were being all sticky with just say? I have been waiting... I travelled across a cliff, the freaking dwarf himself bit a cord into my gums and tongue, and I still feel the metal... and I encountered red eyes two times and taught your boyfriend a lesson when suddenly you are saying that, damn, I can't serve in a castle anymore and wear clothes that are beautiful?? I want to lead this life, you... she-cat!"

Euginie stared. This was enough, this... this had crossed all limits! So, she went over

Sneak-Peek - 21st Chapter, "The Lordling's Coward"

It was the day of — (as I am not positive), and in the land of the Second of the Triplets. Morning. The sun hung above like boiled gold, not quite shiny, without its usual sheen and with bleak rays casting down heavily upon the island. This wasn't popular - in fact, the birds didn't even sing that morning, let alone the bullfrogs which did not begin with the choir and the off-tact sound-making. Children awoke with colds and mothers with children in their wombs lay upon their couches, holding stomachs and moaning frightfully.

It was nothing serious, perhaps, but men went off to work coughing and looking down and the snakes stayed hidden underneath their sacred boulders, enjoying the stones weighing them down and the cool, crisp air. Meanwhile, three beings were huddled under the lonely wâttłê tree in the graveyard, and they all slept - all but one.

Mr. Recovery and stood and stretched his legs. By Euginie there was no blood, for it all froze on her face like icing on a badly-made cake, making her features hideous. Then there was Wen, who was sleeping like a perfectly thorny devil who didn't want nobody to invade her space (drooling, body spread out over the grass and legs and arms lying across the body of the woman). However, there was something very melancholy about the child; —

I 'ever told 'er of my intenshons... i 'ever said tha' she must' die... the thought was airborne in his mind. But the dwarf just felt under his woollen jumper and produced a pocketknife. Sabres - longswords - all that sort of stuff was in Tilla, and in Ruthenium Picke, and he wouldn't even dare try using one of those. Actually, wait no; Ruthenium Picke would be for the cowards, so of course there would be all the gòœnś (items, much like guns, but rather plastic looking. And before one was killed, the other had to perform... a certain ritual... which included cutting out one's — Never mind. The cuts would be long and painful, but at least that would satisfy his lordling.

The dwarf touched his beard, feeling fingers intertwine together over the mass of the scraggly mop, and bitterly and wistfully he sighed. But the vision of his lordling - there, Dear Arachphat, with his weapon bared and his cloak of platinum trailing behind him, pink quartz shining bright, made the dwarf first look away - and then beam boldly. And she - the sacred little child chosen for the job - of the Helper - had something that he didn't. That was bad enough... very bad.

So the dwarf made his way towards the girl, thinking all the same as he brought the knife down to her lips. He would cut now - now - send the blade cutting across her face, and flesh and blood and bone would be out, with only the pathetic shell of the creature, all crust, left to be given to his lordling. He would bare his teeth and he would claw at the shell and roar and reveal bloodied teeth, with whisky stains (it's the same word both in Earthian and Consilii Language) And pieces of bannickse in between the gaps.

Now.

Now.

Now.

His honour... who was he to do this?? And suddenly the dwarf sat down on the hard surface, stunned, thinking, right hand at the side of the vest and left gripping the pocket knife. It was blunt... it would cut away slowly, and she would scream, and the lordling would be pleased. But not that way... not in the ecstatic way. No, no... at least he owed her some respect. Respect - to hear her final plea -...

"I 'ate you," he hissed to nobody in particular, and the wind whistled back. "My lordling will be prou' to 'ave me..." But then - she could make a ripple effect. Could be the first Earthian Helper. Maybe she'd save the planet from destruction? No. To think that that far back.... it'd be in a hundred baby-suns times, that's what!

"She could have a child... in fifteen baby-suns. She could be the first Earthian Lady... become an upper-er... return her pink quartz. Perhaps the damsel isn't a burglar," faintly whispered Euginie. She had quietly and tenderly laid aside the hands that'd been thrown upon her and she slid away from the body. "I feel like a mother to this child. I never had one. She pressed to me... her weight... her heat... it's all familiar to me. My senses, my spirits - I'm blooming again."

The woman stood and and suddenly she looked grotesque. The dwarf wanted to scream out. Her eyes were both unseeing, glued to skin with blood, but perhaps the darned woman could see through her lashes? Her cheeks were torn, bone showing, hair sticky and covered in... leaves, and more of the sticky red substance. Like soy sauce in Earthian.... "I can see." Euginie whispered. "With my senses, I tasted the air with the tip of my tongue and your heartbeat is a siren inside me."

The dwarf stayed still, sitting upon the ground.
She now extended out her hand, sighing, weighing him in - not with her eyes but with her ears, for she heard his breaths low and hard. "After all, I used to be your lordling's woman, do you remember not?" And suddenly the woman walked over to to the empty grave, and she selected her twig again.

Damn.... the dwarf thought. He was dumb. And then the woman pointed it at her face - which, of course, didn't take away the scars, for those were impossible to heal! - rather, all the blood was gone and the face was glistening from just being washed, as if... and the scars were lining her skin, but gone was the weak girl. And now her hair changed, too - to a golden blonde, and her eyes went to a dark and boiling red, for without the sticky substance the eyes could be opened again.

And finally did her outfit change; Euginie stood in front of the dwarf with a smug look about her torn lips, for she was in a dress like her eyes - but it was quite very revealing, with a cut going up, boldly, so that one of her legs was seen fully and and there was a large gap at her chest, collar low.

"I can go... to my dear... and he may execute you," said Euginie, beaming. "Remember all those times ago when I first came to him?" And then suddenly, the thought flashed right before the dwarf's eyes;

***

Euginie wore a dress see-through, so that the lordling could see her bra. It was like mail, except smooth like cotton, and her hair was up in a beehive. The dwarf and her were friends - long ago - and they walked through the gates of a ruined area, he remembered.

Now they were in the front yard, and as Euginie saw a handsome man standing and fighting with a gòœnś against a young green-skinned boy, who was cowering in the corner of the yard, against the iron fence, moaning, she smiled curtly.

Euginie was many years younger. She was about twenty, to count in Earthian, and she walked over to the man boldly - nonetheless. She pulled back her shoulders, and sat down on the bench, patting the seat beside herself. At first, the lordling scowled - But she flashed him the smile of a lady who knew what she was doing, and she batted her lashes so he took a seat beside her. The final "bullet" flew to the heart of the green-skinned boy, and that was how the last race of his kind was extinct.

Euginie touched the collar of the lordling and grinned. She felt his hair - touched behind his ears - and whispered something to him, lips brushing his cheek. "I want to see you, tonight, my place..." she had murmured, and the lordling surrendered.

That night he must have thought that she was quite the woman for him!! Sure, she had a beautiful body with hair like the brow of the night and straight spine and fireworks in his eyes, and she acted as a woman five years into her prime, but the lordling still kissed her back.

And the dwarf was there. He watched the last of the green kind dying, and the flirting, and everything else and how the lordling took him in and was nice. But the night Euginie left... the lordling spanked his dwarf, and he yowled, and then snake liver had been given to him on a golden platter.

***

The dwarf stroked his scraggly beard and felt his eyes going moist, so he rubbed at them and looked at Euginie again. "Wha''s there yar stick cannot do..? Aye, bu' I 'ave one myself...." and he drew out his own, and then he raised one knee, slamming fat fists unto his leg. The twig snapped. He ... he was only holding his pocket knife now, and Euginie talked to him...

"You, I say - you are the lordling's coward, and he's a cheeky bastard," she growled, prowling closer to the dwarf. On further inspection, all the twigs honestly looked more like wands; smooth, with edges rounded off, each one the colour of ivory. To cast a spell one simply had to utter the ancient Consilii words, and think of what one was trying to do, and then - mentally or not, something would happen, sending off foam - lights - sparks -... and better, all got their wands at the Shattered School, a gloomy building atop a cliff facing down unto the mouth of water. They said, time never stops...

"I... I know what yer thinking," said the dwarf quickly, and he raised his pocket knife. "If.... if I don't kill 'er...."

FULL 20

Gotherd pronounced him having to go back home, and the two friends said goodbye to him - Wen glad and Mr. Recovery tearful. Then, once over the cliff, they climbed out of the seat (which honestly was more or less simply a log attached to a wire - a long, strong cord which then intertwined with the rope and twisted over, knotting). The town turned to be a very beautiful place, with much firs - and then houses, houses, and then there was a very tall hill in the North and atop that hill stood a castle, and beyond were just grasslands.

However, in the South, and that was where started the island - there were open, thatched houses, and there was a lovely lake in the West as Wen and the dwarf made their way though streets of kiosks, shops, and lanterns that hung high up in the sky. It was late evening now, for it took quite too long to get over the cliff, and now they strolled - and it was more chilly. But then, deeper into the island they went, and soon all the loveliness was gone, and they were shrouded by a forest of trees.

To the East opened up more alleyways, and cafes, and people were screeching and laughing and singing drunkenly. But they must have went more to the West, for it'd make more sense then, than to any other direction... however, now they were in a forest, and large mountain peaks were seen from the North, and a house of clay stood in front of them, in a clearing.

Wen touched the delicate patterns of her dress and smiled reassuringly to the dwarf, however she was very scared. "Why... are we here?" She whispered, afraid. "Is there anybody you'd like to meet..?" And then suddenly, she remembered Gotherd talking about a "li'l hut in the midst of a(h) forest", and shuddered. "Oh...."

"There's a friend I 'ave," Gotherd noted. "I... ah... I 'ave one, lives 'ere. And he's going to, ah... show us... where to go. Say, girl - d'ya mind walkin'... till First Time? I promise, you may sleep for the secon' Time! afterwards!"

Wen was confused. It was true, she wanted to sleep, and she rubbed her eyes in agony. But she was fine! Of course! Even the mere thought of sleeping in a place that was unmapped, made her guilty with pleasure and excited and tense. But suddenly, a thought struck her, and she reached into the dwarf's bag - quickly - and pulled out her old attire, the one she wore when she felt her tongue blister with the cord and small hands carrying her away. Into the flower print dress she reached, and out of it took the bright, pink quartz that she and Valentine had found ... back when she was alive.

" 'Tis wha'?" Asked the dwarf, but Wen only hissed at him and feverishly fought to turn around. Though the dwarf contemplated wheeling her around with his short, stubby hands (and he were already holding her shoulders in agitation), the thought wasn't too pleasing and he let go.

Meanwhile, Wen inspected the stone, almost a fuchsia pink. Strangely, she remembered it being much lighter on her Home Planet... but as her homing thoughts raised to the place where she'd been raised, a still coldness built up inside her slowly. Yes. This was a magical world... or perhaps she were simply lucid dreaming, but whatever! She mustn't get too excited or she'll awaken. And anyway, she counted her fingers and had all ten in place - and then she thought that in this world anything could happen.

The girl fingered the blunt edges. "Ha, it'll be a problem proposing to Ksenia... ha, ha, Terry must be really pissed! So I'd probably just saved my sister from a horrible future with the stupid boy who killed her one and only friend. Bah!" but as the girl snorted and dug her stone back into her old attire, something made her tense - and recoil. Because, the dwarf was watching.

"Tha'... where did you get, tha'?" He asked, voice quivering, and Wen suddenly felt as if she had committed a crime. Her cheeks flushed and her dimpled fingers grappled for the stone again, and this time she held it tight in her palm. "I... it's mine!" She yelled.

"You got tha' where..?" The dwarf asked. This time, his voice was like wine - rich and cruelly agonising, yet bitter and calming. "I 'ave everythin' I need, to leave you in this forest..." and he swung his hips about, taking a few steps back. "My pride... lest I ever lose my pride!" And he massages his beard, eyes twinkling.

"It's mine," repeated Wen. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to say what she'd been hoping to say - what she'd been wanting to say. Just the idea... of her finding - stealing - helping - dead Valentine Sue to keep the bright pink-quartz away from TerNia (Ksenia And Terry, a "ship" name the two made up what seemed like a year ago. Heck, the two didn't even know each other as long!)... "I can't give it to you, I can't, I can't, it's mine - don't take it away..."

And she pressed the stone hard to her chest, breathing heavily, and the dwarf swore. She didn't think that dwarves knew how it felt to say bad words - and anyway, she thought that this fantasy realm was all happiness and rainbows and fat little Recoveries - but, now he said "Shit!" And she tensed, recoiled, gaped at him.

Because Wen was a little girl, and a very proper one at that - who uttered not a word of madness, never - unless ever instructed to by Eddy. So now she looked at him boldly, and wanted to quote a line from "Game of Thrones" when she realised that she weren't even allowed to legally watch the show (never mind that she had) and anyway, Wen's mind had went blank just at that moment.

Luckily, just as in cliche movies she'd watched - exactly when the character is at a loss of words - the door of the hut swung open, and quite a curious persona had presented oneself in front of the two; a woman, with a dress quite peculiar; why, it seemed to be made of crèpe fabric, with hyacinth - or what looks like hyacinth - petals sprinkled all over the attire, and then lapis lazuli came in; in her ears, woven in her hair, on her mermaid dress with the bare back and crèpe fabric coming out in a pompon of magnificence right above her ass. She looked about thirty, and her hair was a bright pink, and she was smiling at the two a very excited, enjoyable grin.

"Hello! My dear friend... and, ah, the Helper! What's your name..? Wait, don't tell me! ...blood."

"I'm sorry?" Wen Asked, massaging her forehead. This all was stressful, and this woman... well, she was intimidating for one, and her style... quite fascinating. Sure, if she had picked more pastel and baby- and light- colours, that'd be fine... but Wen watched moist-eyed, breath caught in her throat.

"Blood. And what charming little voice you have! How pretty you look..." sure, everybody said that she was a lovely little girl when she smiled, but Wen never remembered being called "pretty", and she clasped her hands and her cheeks flushed again. "I mean to say, Winnie... Wen. Yes. Blood...Wena. Blodwena. Ah yes!" And the woman strode forward, gently stepping down the steps of her mossy little hut.

"Thank you... I really—" Wen began, smiling, but woman just sighed.

"No time for chit-chat, and let's go!" She said, and suddenly she was holding a stick - a stick rather familiar looking - and now she uttered a few words, and then she changed;her hair was now a dark, glittering black - and even if she were in the mermaid dress and even if the pompon still trailed behind her in an amusing bundle of fabric - it was now the same ebony, the gemstones flowering and burning. And a moment later they were walking very quickly, Wen stumbling, until soon... they were shrouded by a canopy of trees again.

The woods were dark, and now it was bitterly cold, and a wind blew. A howl was heard, soon, and suddenly - just when the peculiar woman, why by the way informed them that her name was Euginie - out of the hood of spiky firs, jumped out a creature; it was standing on two legs, and it was furry and a sleek black, and its face was like a long pointed one... with features sharp, and eyes bloodthirsty and red and mouth big and wide. The body was broad-shouldered, and the hands enormous - each like a car wheel, as to count by the Earthian ways.

"Stand back..." and Wen touched the scar jutting out right across her eyebrow, noticing - with a guilty little laugh - that the dwarf was cowering behind her! Just then, her hands began to sweat. Meanwhile, the woman raised the familiar looking stick in the air - (Wen wondered if she'd just shoved the twig in between her bulging breasts, but that seemed not such a pleasant idea to think of so she rather went with the idea of the stick in the bra) and shouted words that cut through the air like sabres, and Wen covered her ears. "What is this madness??" She yelled over the screaming of the dwarf.

A moment later, the creature lurched forward, and with a massive hand - knife-like nails sharp and pointed - it sliced at the face of the woman, who stepped back and screamed. With her dying breaths she pointed at the creature, yelled out a name that sounded much like Gryphiannah (who might she be??), making the beast look wide-eyed at the scarred woman - before it wheezed, spat out a jugful of saliva - and sprinted away.

Wen ran to Euginie, and began to cry wordlessly. The woman's face was a mess; it was scarred, truly, because a deep gash ran right down her face and her left eye was just a mass of blood and flesh, and it seemed like her eye would now fall out of its socket, for it felt so loose and Euginie was scared to touch it. She moaned.

"I'm fine," she said, however, after a few moments of blood trickling down her face and sweat and tears rolling off Wen's forehead and eyes. "Let's go, before it's truly dark!" And she stood up, whining and purring softly to herself as she kept walking. Nobody said a word - nobody even tried to knit together a conversation...

...Until the moment when the forest was a two-path way, forking left and right, and in the ten-metre clearing which soon got cut off by bushes and, soon, more trees and vines and thickly-growing flowers grew - there was a graveyard. A rather legit one, with graves upon graves, plants such as a mix of roses and chrysanthemums upon every inch of soil.

...so that the graveyard seemed like a part of the forest. The woman then ran to a grave - a certain grave, deep in the very back, and she knelt down and put her twig by the grave. The tombstone was old and jagged and the words were faint, but Wen could make out the words Lady Odetia Inkreigh And they left her shuddering from head to toe.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Euginie began digging, and the dirt went everywhere. At first, Wen protested - but then the dwarf put a plump hand over her mouth, so the girl couldn't scream even if she wanted to! ...in the end, the woman triumphantly lifted the wooden lid, made of maple bark - and felt all the colour go out of her face.

Wen dug her sharp nails into the side of Euginie's hand, biting her tongue, trying not to scream out. Because - there lay no corpse. It... the hole was empty. The grave of this Odetia Inkreigh was, well, empty.

"Last baby-sun (year) Odetia was here... and now... she has Awoken."

Chapter Nineteen (NOT whole) - ...

They were still in the boat, and Wen was shuddering from fear... but the dwarf simply wiped his mouth on the side of his woollen vest, stood up, so that he was about the height of her (mind, the girl wasn't very tall - at least not as knobbly and sharp-looking like Stella Vunis). "You saw that..?" He questioned her. "I neve' would a'thought.. you?"

Pulling up his breeches fringed with sweat, he sucked in some breath and curled his tongue about a piece of succulent meat, so that his gums hurt and his teeth ached unpleasantly. "I... why would'ya think.... tha'? Perchance yarr simply mist'aeken..." And he let out a long, narrow, foul breath which made Wen cover her nose.

It's been some time since she'd seen the eyes, and she was seated now, tearing away at a leg of meat. Perhaps the girl had never eaten as much as this, but her whole body ached and she only groaned, sucking out the marrow and biting her tongue in the process. But now she stood up, which gave the dwarf the pleasure to look at her more-or-less slim figure, and she laughed.

"Ha! I'm becoming much like a cow on this boat with you, darlin'... and maybe you're right..." her small bug-eyes widened and her shoulders sagged and eyebrows creased... "Well, I'll eat no more, I can promise you. Because, I've already gained 1.2 kilograms last week, so I'll be sure to lose some of the kilos when I live up in the Low Mountains or whatever. I'll be hiking every day then, going down to the forest and then swinging through that as if I'm Mario before I walk straight up to the border. I'm thinking... shouldn't I have some proper clothing if I'm maid at a castle?" Wen grinned, for no longer did she feel too vulnerable.

The eyes had come and gone - what was there to worry about truly? "Ah, yes... afore yarr go up to the Low Mountains - just call 'em High Hills if you wish — we shall go up, up, and where the peaks are mattered a'ay by snow and boulders face north, we shall hike down to the South of your a-livin' spot... and there's Mattiâs, he'll make ya some clothin'! Say... what do you like?"

"I'd like a woollen jumper, a pair of pants, like - three dresses... each polyester... one, dark brown to bring out my eyes — then, a sorta' mustard one for my very pale, no-good hair, and the last the deepest of purples. Some underwear too - a singlet or three," thought Wen out loud. "I suppose I'll wear the pants and the oversized jumper when at home, and the mustard dress every day to the castle. The other two would be for special occasions, like... say... on a date..." and then, Wen remembered how hard she had been crushing on a boy about her age - slender as a jian weapon with eyes hazel and curling hair of brown. And then she also thought how he teased her, and the charming dimpled mouth...

"Date?" The dwarf smiles. "Seems like a'somethin' good for recovery!" And Wen put her face in her hands, sitting back down, grinning, for it was a relief that the dwarf knew not of what she had just joked about. Then, out of his woollen vest, he produced a small moleskin notebook, and began scribbling down feverishly. Huh. So he can wriiiiiiiiite? Wen asked herself. Luckily, her usually-loud self held back from throwing the punch at the "recovery" guy.

"I wrote all dat down," he told her, turning around to show her his messy writing. Wen squinted, trying to make out the words; flowēš tīgebāt vōjk ßulłbāē - it said. The girl's shoulders slumped. This man was impossible!! First, he captures her, then, he feeds her on a freaking boat and finally he... writes down weird stuff, and shows it to her, and his vest is so cute! Oy...

At that she yelled out - "Frick! What do you expect of me?" Before her toes dug into the side of the boat, and she soon felt the sand and a few sharp pebbles between the cracks. Her dimpled fingers also turned to the crevices and before long a small pile of dirt and whatnot was lying there beside her, and she chucked it out to the lake... "God I'm helpful!" She congratulated herself.

The scenery changed... for now, steep hills of boulders and more hemlocks flecked at the area all around, plus the once-wide stream not was rather too narrow - and anyway. If the girl reached out her hand, she could touch the water and one of those steel-silver fishes would most likely swim up to nibble at her hands. Then, an hour or two later - the boat came to a halt.

There was now a canopy over them - trees, mighty green oaks with wood dwarfs sitting in them and chattering happily, and the boat came to a stop in front of three enormous mountains. Yes, they were mountains alright! - not some hills that her friend had so lamely described - oh no, they were snow-topped and each one about as wide as an elephant that Wen never had seen... except in a zoo.

But it was good that the mountains had crevices, so one could rather skilfully climb atop. There also seemed a bit of a pathway, wounding up and up and up, and Wen thought — I am so NOT playing the main role in a cliche movie, but lemme ask - what's the fun in anything if there's a pathway straight up??

The dwarf now packed all of the scarce belongings into a sack which he had retrieved when first they met on the boat, and now he huffed and puffed and jumped down to the grass. But Wen was not so lucky, and now she was in the deep water - screaming and flailing and then gasping for breath while the dwarf patted his woollen vest and roared with laughter.

"Hey ho, dear gal!" He chuckled, and then out of the sack he took out a pair of robes - much like in the movies Harry Potter, but except that this one was a plain white, not a black made either out of crepe material or silks. Rather it was polyester, and not half as fancy, but it did have a collar of the darkest brown, which accentuated with the eyes of the girl. Honestly, what surprised her was that the top half - or less than half - of the dress was a waist trainer. Not laced up, and not the fancy type that the girls with flawless hair of melting milk-chocolate and azure green eyes wore on their wedding days - rather, it was a simple white one, much like a prop for cosplay - but it was lovely, and the girl smiled for she remembered being told by her Grandmother - who in fact was rather too strict on weight - saying, "Your waist is so narrow!"

So it wasn't a robe. Not too much. Not a dress, really, but the girl felt very vulnerable as she changed behind a tree and threw her tent dress with the ugly toad into the sack, which no doubt was wet, and the water must have somehow rinsed itself out on the food.

And then the girl stepped out, with hair a dull pale-blonde, but catching sunlight in the warmth of the day. And her eyes were warm too - that is, 'till they went back to being bug-eyes and she lightly stepped towards the dwarf. She was though quite worried that she was meant to lose weight, but the dwarf said that he knew nothing of what she was talking about and that in the Second of the Triplets this was merely a fashion, and anyway corsets were the trend in Tilla whilst here it was less fancy - more hard, no laces, no frills.

Wen asked not of how he got this dress, for simply she smiled stupidly as they descended up the path. The dwarf said that she should wear his woollen vest, because it was far too big for him and there was dust, and that the dress was a gift from his friend for Wen. So she hastily pulled on the vest, which fitted her in a lovely manner - but I'm afraid it hung like a crop top on her, barely ending where her breasts would be in a year or six.

Preview of Chapter Eighteen - A Murder most Unwise

As the people from Earth - or we - call it, there were sweet peppers stuffed with creamy cheese which was oozing out, having been melted not long before. But in the Consilii Language, it was more or less - swoot proopo - ... there was also, on the grand table (but not the one where Dion and Bell sat - rather, it was the one two rooms away from the other) many other items - sageuses -, common bread, bannickses, sultræ (much like a salad, but made from the insides of an orc), red cheese, sap wine, drum wine (more like champagne, honestly, however containing pixie saliva, which for one is a popular culinary ingredient, and the inwards of a common human, all mixed together and added with the blood of one leprechaun), prumprum potatoes - pink -, boiled leg ham - leg'am - And many more fascinatingly drastic foods.

Dylan had left them, and Bentarch sat down in front of Dionarys, who was clad in a suit of gold twisted along the creamy tint of the fabric, with ruffles at the sleeves and neck line. Looking fondly over at the young, handsome man for what seemed like the first time, Bentarch took notice of the chiselled jawline, the high, defined cheekbones, the muscles taut through the cloth... and then he looked down at his plate, poured himself a glass of drum wine, drank, and bit into a slice of orc cheese.

"The prophecy... young Dion," he began, wiping his mouth. "It's here... the cathedral... manger... mill..." and then he ate some sultræ, poured more drum wine, drank, glanced up at the hot prince, looked down again... drank more... ate a bannickse... one, two, three saugeuses.... and continued. "I went there. The manger - where the eleventh god lay - is empty, there's a fire there - and the cathedral... sister Raāchelle, she is devastated, and brothers Oscar and Teddy are  flabbergasted. High Father Charlie, he too told he were scared of the red-hot burn... and they all had rushed to the well to pour buckets of water over the manger! Plus, the mill.... at the mill, High Father found a scroll of parchment. From the djinns. He broke the seal and opened it up, and there was a letter... war..." the Arch was breathless.

"War?" The prince looked down at the different types of bread, including dark - sourdough - pita - focaccia -... all of whose names in Consilii I won't talk of! And then, he got himself a piece of pumpernickel, scooping unto it jalapeño hommus - which, in the Magical language of the Consiles, was noini socrolle. There were also ,any different types of hommuses, including red pepper, green olive pesto, and coriander pesto. But he looked not at that - rather, he took a bite and drank some sap wine, then put down his glass, thinking wistfully of how goblets were thought "old fashioned", which was just why they had none in Tilla.

At that, the Arch drew out of his torn robes that same scroll of parchment, and passed it across the table to the prince who grasped it with fingers in hommus and flour.

Dearest High Father,
We, from the Land of Djinns, are writing this with the last bottle of ink we have left. Our village is in ruins; thatched huts burned, trees with shed leaves and shops free of food. Our nation is grouped together in the only hut that is still left standing, and all we have is bread and butter and flour! How are we to live?

So my nation declares war, against the whole of Tilla. If we win, then we get half of the gold stored in the Vaults at Tilla, so we can rebuild our Land on the King. Of course, we have thought of moving to the Second of the Sisters, but goblins live there - and that isn't no good place for us. Now, reply as swiftly as you may - if you agree, let us then have the first battle on the Quarter Tahme...

New King Dion looked rather nonplussed as he gazed at Bentarch, and now he bit into his lip so hard that soon he tasted blood. His hand flew to his side just so his fingers could coil about the hilt of the sharp pocket-knife, feeling the rough surface of the pommel, clearly cut of wood. A splinter dug into his finger and a squeal touched his lips. He was a coward... King Dion was a coward.

Ashamed, he swung his pocket knife in front of himself, slicing a loaf of "sourdough" bread, sópę, which till now had been sitting merely on his plate. Then he thrust the knife back into his belt, which was hidden underneath his rich robe; a belt strictly tied about the middle of the man, who wore leather shorts and a flannel shirt, which was quite torn due to the immense weight of the knife. "It's all stupid," he said, feeling his tooth, nails caked in blood.

How Short... How Long... What Do People Want to Read?

Honestly people... what do readers want to read? I came up with the idea for this post a few months ago, but today one of my teachers was reading to my class - and to the class of my best friends - a story, about a boy at the dumps who writes a book by the name "Trash". We also discussed "Gone with the wind", and I have begun - "The butterfly lion". So, well - my experience in both of those books was, well - not the best one. Here's why.

1. You - you are writing for the age group...
Like, yeah. I usually just want to read what I feel like reading, and I know that - why - this is basic stuff! - but I have more thoughts on this so hear me out. When I was a baby, I had picture-books read to me, and I used to bite my nails and shove them in my nose (or at least I imagine that) when the story wasn't very interesting. When I first began talking in English, I read baby-stories such as "Squishy Taylor" and "Tom Gates". Now, I am reading "Game of Thrones", and I am okay with this - because, like, in a year or two I'd be reading Shakespeare! So, you should know what age-group you are writing for...

2. Me - I am writing for the age group...
In "Shattered Reality", I try to make it for ages -- well, that is, if my book were a movie I'd say it would be PG, because there are many deaths, and one or two kissing scenes - but since I am no insane madman and only a ten-year-old girl, I simply say "They kissed" or something, instead of diving fully into the "Fifty Shades of Inappropriate" sea (I DID NOT watch the movie, btw, but I know that it's something I'll be watching when I'm like 21)...

So, yes! I hope you now know what age group to write for, and that I helped you a bit...
- Yvonne

What You Need to Know (+11 days till my birthday!!)

Okay, so I have reached a pretty big milestone! Because... 20+ Chapters, 100+ pages, 3790+ words... I feel pretty great about my work, and how in the space of four months I am now able to praise myself with having officially gone, like, 1/5 of the way through the book!! Yippeeee..... or not? You tell me!

It is almost my birthday, so, as a gift to myself, I am kinda jumping up and down in literal joy and eating all the chocolate that catches my eyes in the house - mentally. In my mind. Because, I’m not three anymore, and should try and act mature, because anyway - my parents do say that I am like twenty, mentally, because I think grown-up thoughts... and it wouldn’t do to eat chcolocate, yes?

But, overall - what do you NEED to know about my Shattered Reality?? Well, for one, I feel like it is focused for people age 12-15 —ishhh... I know, I’m too young for this, perhaps, but keep in mind that I try excersizing the character strength “logical thinking”, and when it kicks in... it kicks in hard. So, I won’t be publishing the book at least I am, like, fifteen, those are my thoughts...

But maybe, things will change, because you may never know. By the way, it’s been four months since I began, you already know, so... +four and I’ll be at chapter 40, then in November I’d be at 60 and my aim is, like, one hundred chapters.... so, in March a year later I’d be at 80 or something, and in July I’d be done next year.

Or maybe, I’m counting it all wrong and am just so stupid (I’m a little over average in Math, my NAPLAN results in Year 5 have shown... yeeeea)... But I feel, like, ———— ... editing the first draft would be like two months, and editing the second draft another two. So, July plus four months - uhh... December! And then, I can say that I’ve been working on the book for more than two years now, because I started in November and all that.

Another thing you should know is, that, I have death scenes. The part where —— dies, especially, so be aware that if you are an unmature and sensitive readers then, well, I do not advise this book to you!! However I honestly would appreciate if you gave it a read on Wattpad, under @Starry_Birdie, just ‘cos I’m already over 700+ views and want to reach 1K by the end of this year!

Thanks for ya time,
——

Things i'd tell myself, if I was 5...

Okay, peeps! SO, I decided to make this post, because I got inspired by a video on youtube - "Things i'd tell my younger self - artist edition" by @magicgiraffe . Well-p, now I am here.... with a super cliche letter to myself, age of five! Hee-hee... now's the time to embarass myself!

Well, oficially - sound the trumpets, and rol me up a scroll of parchment - gimme some ink - seat me on a chair intertwined with cords of quartz, in front of a table of maple-wood in the Western Tower of Tilla (you'll know... if you read my "Shattered Reality").

***

My dear ---,
I, ---, your future self, am writing on this scroll which smells of rain and parchment, and the ink is splattering my pages. If you ask, I am sitting here in a magical world which I have written... myself. Yes, darling! - yes! - you're going to be a writer - and author - an authoress, whatever you want.
But, to get whatever your small heart desires, think - write! Start writing today! Make up stories! Tell them to your parents to record! And try to read. Yes. Don't wait another year, lovely girl - try and read now. Because you will love it.

I promise you, you will! And then... when you are old enough to be able to read, and write - just a bit properly - never stop. It's amazing how you can create worlds - fly on unicorns - talk with the fae - whilst staying in your lovely room in Finland, Tampere. Please, just read!!

Remember - please... a book is a present you can open again and again, and try to never for that. Whatever somebody says - you can injure (hurt) yourself when you play sport - but try and play volleyball, a bit! -, maths (numbers) are boring, handwriting... well. And singing is not your thing. Writing! Writing! Oh, and of course drawing. Making art. Yes.

Draw and draw and write and write and listen to your parents and let them take pictures of your art and record your novels. Please! Because, I, age 10 - to turn 11 in one month (four weeks) and nine days would LOVE to watch the videos and list through the photos. Draw. Please!!

Your loving older self...
---

***

cHAPTER - whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaA.....-tever.

The man's black, orb-like eyes glistened with the rheum of years and his knees buckled with old age. Yet, he stood at the marble steps of the castle, waiting to be let in, and his grey strands of greasy hair fell about him like a tempest - all knotted up together, waves overlapping, intertwined at his head and in his face. Voice hoarse, he seethed again, tugging on his robe of torn ebony.

"My apologies... kind men..."he raised his eyes to look up, lips dry and cracked - and, formed a sound, "Please".

"Who are you, and why do you wish to come inside?" A voice drawled and the rustle of pages was heard. At that, frowned the old man, and straightened his back which had been bent in a double till now. "Old Bentarch, 'tis me, moron!" He sneered. "Dionarys begged for me, knucklehead... desperate. He's is love, the young man, and the prophesy..."

"Prophecy? There ain't a prophecy in Tilla!" And when Bentarch looked at the gate of ivory, pink quartz twisted along the bars and intertwining up, up, he saw - just out of arm's reach - a small, white pebble, which was secured to the part of the gates where they would open. But, rather than a chain - for that would seem all too suspicious - there was the stone, and there were two creases in either side of it, where the corners of the gates locked up. So, Bentarch jumped up and rattled the gates.

"Krits," he whispered.

"Huh?" The voice projected out of the stone. "Old man, show your letter of confirmation!"

Bentarch sighed, but nevertheless produced a small parchment from the inside of his robes. It was written in slanting shrift, and had oil illustrations of snakes upon it. Classic Typhae Silt X., - thought the old man, smiling to himself. But, at the sight of the letter, there suddenly was a flash of metallic lights - and then, in front of the slouched, pathetic creature, there now appeared a broad-shouldered, square-jawed man with each finger approximately a small sausage, who now gave an almighty kick at the gates and they opened with an even more threatening squeak.

"Ah, "Bent" Arch!" The man spoke. "I have been expecting you," he squared his shoulders and his lips pulled into a crude snarl. "Honestly, what prophecy were you talking about?" He seemed curious. Such a shame.

"You... expecting me?" Bentarch laughed. "You know, don't forget you didn't get into Shattered Academia! Ha! Ha! Expecting... me? My, but you are a moron!"

"If only I went," seethed the other man. "And it's a stupid college; so I even wonder at you, old man, for having saved the planet from destruction... ha indeed, beggar!" And he led the man through the gates and up the castle. They had walked in silence for minutes - but it seemed like hours, for now they had already passed chambers, ante-rooms, bedrooms, music rooms, long corridors with oak fireplaces and grim faces staring down upon the two from framed pictures... even they met the cook, who, upon the sight of Dylan Caikentrine and the man - even he realised him as to be the necromancer, the Grandwalffe "Bent" Arch - scuttled off, yelping and shooting curious stares behind himself at the pair.

"People are watching you," said the square-shouldered one. "You have no place in this castle..." but now Bentarch drew out the scroll, raised and pulled in his eyebrows again, and hid it in his robe. "I must have heard you wrong," he said, smiling. "Oh am I so sorry? No."

"You should mind your tongue. We soon shall be at the Wing, where I will leave you to your ugly fate," gritted out Dylan through teeth, and spit coated the face of the "Bent" Arch. He looked away, trying to suppress a laugh. Honestly, it all was quite bonzer... yes, true, he were to die quite soon! - three more days of mirthful living, but he was to spend them at the castle. And the prophecy - it would be known; people... they would discover, but all in due time, and books shall be written about him. A glorious death, in the chambers on the East wing, up in the tower with the balcony facing out and down, down, upon the border... and there would be firs and hemlocks and oaks facing on either side, and beyond the woods - far beyond - there'd be a stream... heck, there is a stream! And then houses. Jolly, sweet houses, and shops and cafes and the Low hills.

"The room... it's reserved. East tower." Dylan frowned. "You're to live there- I let the Valens know when you came. And what are you pulling up your lips for, to reveal yellow teeth?"

"Whose your Valens?" Asked the necromancer, curious. He were a very old fellow - had lived for Turti of times (meaning "a thousand years"), and all his power was now drained. Actually.... all the power, but some, that refused to leave his incurably-weak body. It was the colour of a pungent-green bullfrog, and there was but a droplet left. So, people honestly weren't scared of him - no more; all thought that he were simply a stupid old man, tired of living. And honestly, he knew not much of the Consilii world; having travelled between all of the 100+ worlds - planets, including the one of Small Planet, he wasn't very well accustomed to any of the religions - knew not of the rules - fully. But Dylan was a dumb fellow, already in his thirtieth "time" (year).

"Typhae Silt." sighed Dylan. "Darn you! So stupid! And you used to be smart... they say... my ill grandfather talked of you in your days... ninety years ago, perchance you were a bit wiser... tee-heee! And to think... stories of you, they'd been written, how you conquered the Queen —"

"Do not speak of her. A mere mention issued from your lips - hath bring fury and darkness back. It's the prophecy... I fear, she is over not. Can't be, I tell ya... the cathedral, I went to it, Dylan Caikentrine!"

"The cathedral?" The two had walked up a marble staircase. The broad shouldered man ran his thick fingers over banister when they were up on the third floor. They then crossed into a corridor of redwood and chandeliers of pink quartz. Dylan heard his feet echoing on the marble, and tensed. "Not over..."

"The cathedral, far beyond the Tilla Castle, about three hundred miles, there's a ruin. You ain't educated... no wonder, that you are clad in rags of your late father. Old Father Grey lives there, along with Brother Francis and Brother Archie and Daughter Raáchelle. There's a manger somewhere nearby... a pigsty... everything is in ruins! Only the cellar contains red orc cheese and common bread and pots of honey and fish... the water ought to be broken in the ponds, always! - humph...."

"Tell me more, old man. You know of the Cathedral - I've heard of it, since I was a little boy. But if yer telling fibs..."

"Calm yourself. Listen." "Bent" Arch clicked his tongue. "So in this cathedral... there's a big organ, and it plays every First Time (remember, other than "year", first time is morning - just as second time is noon and third time is night). In the manger, there used to lie... Prince Dionarys... as a baby. That was when the cathedral was a beauty! And monks - they often came, 'em, to the garden of beauty where there was a bank of poppies... and beyond that, there were dips in the hills where hyacinths grew and sunflowers looked up to the sky. There, the monks talked of the Upper-ers.... except, that then there were eleven of the original Twelve. I visited there - some Time ago... and they spoke of me, of their fears. One Monk just came back from the kitchen, and brought with himself a slice of sageuse (sausage). I took it and ate it, and he spoke - spoke, that he felt as if the Queen were to come. Again. This dark shape, who last was seen many and many a Time ago, just when the Little Planet was created. I believed not, first, but a few days... I saw a Prophecy. And She came. And she destroyed the cathedral..."

"So?"

"Well, I went there not much Time ago, ye, and Daughter Raáchelle told me..."

First off, Dylan was impressed. But then he scratched behind his ear and picked his nose, and frowned. "Bentarch... the idiot... you believe a poor girl?"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - A Murderous Madam, Scenes One and Two

Scene 1

"Thou art unwell," Elswyth said – to her rightful sir, who at the moment played with her hair - much like the waves in Norway of yore.

"Nonsense, madam – I feel so good when you talk to me (your voice like the one of Israfel), and your heart-strings are a flute!" said the sire, his gaze acute.

At that, the madam looked and frowned at the young man whose head was crowned with curls of ebony glory, and said – said she;

"I say, my sire – ye are thinking far too much of me! (with a maidenly blush of the cheeks, at that statement – and the previous one, also.)

'How'er, thank ye – ye noticed not – of my sunken cheeks, of my used tricks – ah!"

At that the young sire stood up and glared, and said, said – "I fret of you, my dear madam – what tricks doth you use on me?"

"Nothin', sire, o-oh, my king! – just assume, I beg you, sire, that my words are a wretched, wasted                                                                                                             thing!" gasped out Elswyth and silently slid in behind the man.

(There, where the window blew in breathes the young woman let herself seethe as she drew out a dagger from its sheath from under the skirts of her Roman dress and ran she a hand through her brown tresses.)

"No, pain hath – shan't be endured, and ye won't my space intrude – no more – no yore! – no Eleanore!"

"You talk of things that I understand not, and – my petty madam – I shan't, I won't!" but now – these words came to be the last ones fought...

Because, now came the dagger upon the youth, and be told the truth... the word fresh upon his lips – the one he screamed out before he died – was, unmistakably, "Eleanore!"

Scene 2

(Gaze upon the father of the killed sire. West Tower, North Wing of the Palace Hall, The First of the Triplets).

"My dear son, all by 'imself... in the land of the dead, with my deceased wife..." (weeps)

(Enter Elswyth)

"Ah, weep not my lord! Ye weep none, for thee shalth feel tired... mething ye're wasting too much of ye time!"

"Thee art a woman of sorts...! For one, I expected thy tears to be streaming down thy face... if thee darest come..."

"Darest? I hath come - true, hath you no respect for me?"

"Thee art a week creature... 'ether thee like it or not! (scoffs) I hath no respect for you? Ha, hee, ho... ho, indeed! But, if thee darest cry... of my son... hee..!"

"Why pause you, lord..?"

"...Methink thee sorry darest be!" (bitterly)

"Me? I shalth send on fury... from the waves of lore... 'Lo! ...Unto you..." (crossly)

"Me? - I hath a kingdom, and thee hath fury! And not of regret..."

(Exit Derek)

(Els throws inkstand at Derek's head, he collapses...)

(Exit Elswyth)