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~ For the Love of Words, Laughter, Inspiration (and the odd sexy split infinitive.)

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Category Archives: Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

A Collection of Fey and Fantasy genre poems and posts where Magic and Mythical Creatures come Alive.

#FantasyFriday – Priestess of #Spring

26 Friday Mar 2021

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

BnV, BooknVolume, Harmony, life, Mother Nature, Nature, Poem, poetry, Poetry Blog, relationships, Seasons, Spring, ~Morgan~

Priestess of Spring

.

Mother of Earth Renewal,

Life Springing from her Gentle Hands,

Wealth of Intoxicating Verve

Around her falls like Emerald Sand.

Empress of Rejuvenation,

Youth and Beauty Flowering Fair,

Awakening those who Wait in Slumber

With Verdant Caresses Beyond Compare.

Priestess of Life Springing New,

Kiss of Balm upon her Lips,

Welcoming All who Welcome Her

As Time through Her Seasons Slip.

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Lauren Small at Deviantart.com

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#FantasyFriday #Freebie- A Full #FreeChapter of #AwardWinning #Epic #YA #Fantasy

29 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by Morgan in Dark Fey, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amazon Best Sellers, AmReading, Award Winning Fantasy, Books, Epic Fantasy, Fiction, Free Read, FreeBooks, What to Read, YA Fantasy, YABook

Wondering if you might like Dark Fey? I’ve decided to GIVE you an Entire Chapter to decide. And not just any Chapter, The Pinnacle Chapter; the one I wrote first; the one around which the rest of the story is built. So pour yourself a beverage, sit back in a quiet room (or the local pub, depending) and Enjoy this Fantasy Freebie. 🙂 (And for those of you who’ve already read this…or the entire book, MANY MANY thank Yous!!)

Arvansys 1

Chapter Six

The forests of Jyndari were vast and Hwyndarin was set nearly in the heart of the ancient woodland: with good reason. On the coast, storms and high winds could sweep in from the oceans or roll off the heights of the Trynnari Mountains and threaten both the stability of essential Light and the equally indispensable treasures of learning collected through the ages, but deep in the center of the primordial forest storms were seldom a threat or even a consideration. Hwyndarin had been chosen millennia ago as the seat of all learning and artistry for this especial reason, for here the precious tomes from thousands of years of wisdom could be housed safely and here the artisan’s treasures could be protected. Yet infrequently, a significantly powerful tempest would press back the borders of the forest and shatter the tranquility of that peaceful village.

The late November day had been extraordinarily fair, but the night brought with it gales and pouring icy rain of unparalleled fury that tore at the canopy above Hwyndarin like a giant running its hand over a field of wheat. Boughs and branches crashed down on the village rooftops, rain pelted down like daggers in blinding torrents, and blazing bolts of jagged lightening with resounding clangors of thunder tore the sky repeatedly asunder.

Ayla was guarding the infant of a family called away in grief over the loss of a loved one and had been enjoying a peaceful evening in the quiet solitude of her home with the child. Now, as a bellow of thunder shook her small cottage and the hammering of rain pounded over their heads she held the child close in her arms. She hushed his wailing with a soft, melodic tune, but a furious gust of air blasted open the shuttered windows and shredded her voice. Instantly, her glowing home was pitched into darkness as the gale extinguished every lantern and the child’s shriek of fear mimicked her own.

Her thoughts spun in a panic. A mirror stood in darkness in her boudoir, the child’s cribroom lay in shadows, and the corridor along which she had to travel to reach either held no window, only darkness that could conceal The Reviled, yet, she knew she had to light at least a single candle and she had to brighten the mirror immediately. Each second it stood in blackness was an opportunity for crossing. Racing to the nearest cabinet, she fumbled with the beeswax taper she found there and whispered one of many, simple spells she used frequently in her daily life.

“Luxay,” she said in a commanding tone and the wick popped into flame. The room flickered between shadow and light, yet, it was only a single candle. Should she light more or should she race to the mirror? A mirror left in darkness cries out to be crossed. The recitation she had repeated for years in her youth now played over and over in her mind, but she could not risk entering a room with a darkened mirror while holding a baby in her arms, ripe for the taking. She was a Guardian; her first duty was to protect the innocent.

Clutching her candle, she drew a deep breath, kissed the tot’s head reassuringly and darted along the hall toward his cribroom. A small lantern stood upon his night table, she only need reach it and light it in order to keep him safe. She stopped at the darkened doorway and peered inside, her sight piercing the ebon shades and her own glimmering aura lending illumination. Stepping into the dark interior, she reached immediately for the lantern, yet even as she touched its cool, brass sheath a shadow contracted in the far corner of the room and she froze in instinctive terror.

The shadow grew darker, denser, then spread outward into the dimness of the room not brightened by Ayla’s small candle. Roshwyn in her arms squealed and began to cry louder and she cradled him more tightly, protecting him with her diaphanous wings as her mind spun in alarm.

Light the lantern! Speak the words of protection! Flee!

It was too late.

A Dark One stepped out of the shadows and glared at them with ophidian eyes. The flame in her hand guttered and threatened to go out, but she had no other means of protecting it than repeating her lighting spell with a timorous tone. Shadow swirled about the Dark One like smoke curling around embers and she watched in perfect dread as he slowly reached out his hand toward them.

Light the lantern! Speak the words of protection! Flee!

Years of training screamed at her from within the spiraling depths of her mind, but fear held her transfixed. He stepped closer, his dark eyes glimmering in the fluttering light of her candle, his hand outstretched toward them, toward the child. Light the lantern! Speak the words of protection! Flee!

“Luxay!” Ayla turned toward the lantern and shouted her lighting spell, gasping in relief when the wick snapped into flame, but the Dark One flexed his immense wings and directed a current of air across the room that extinguished both flames, the one she held and the one inside the lantern, in the same moment. Roshwyn screamed and Ayla jerked backwards toward the door, but in an instant, the Dark One was upon them and she stood, paralyzed by dread, her aura shrinking to a feeble glimmer in her terror. The Dark One stared down at her with unreadable eyes, then reached for the squalling child.

“Do not take him.” She pleaded; her voice a mere thread. Remarkably, the Dark One paused, regarding her with his snake-like gaze, but the wailing child could not be ignored. He raised his hand once more and uttered a single word in the vile Dlalth tongue, the language of The Lost.

“Gvyndlal.” Ayla stared at the demon-fey standing before her with utter surprise. As Roshwyn’s wailing subsided and his squirming ceased, she shook her head and struggled to translate the word he had spoken. Gvyndlal? Sleep? The Dark One had said only Sleep?

“Sleep?” She gazed down at the quiet babe in her arms in amazement, then back at the Dark One still glowering over them. Her aura expanded, illuminating his dark silhouette and she beheld, for the first time, one of The Reviled.

He dwarfed her diminutive stature by at least fourteen inches and had a lithe, powerfully muscular physique. His shoulder length hair was the color of shimmering ice, both white and silver. He wore a full-length coat with burnished gold lacings and buttons, with armor-like plates embellishing his broad shoulders and with dark crimson and vibrant silver silk accentuating the deep lapels of the coat he wore open across his broad chest. The multiple belts and chokers crisscrossing his close fitted vest, his pants and boots; all were black leather with similar burnished gold fittings and, although she never would have imagined a Dark One dressing so strikingly, he wore a double flounced cravat and golden choker with an enormous ruby glimmering from its heart.

His vast dragon-like pinions were deep black and blood-red, stretching fully twice his height in length, yet with vicious spines at each joint and tip they seemed even larger and were hideously frightful to behold. His complexion was the unmistakable sallow pallor of the Reviled.

Gairynzvl 2

“Put the child in his crib.” He said unexpectedly, his calm baritone voice sending a violent shiver through her. She hesitated; if she released Joshwyn, he would be lost.

“Put the child in his crib.” The Dark One repeated in a more imposing tone. Ayla jolted into motion, but shook with uncontrolled fear.

“Please, do not take him.” She whined piteously. The Dark One scowled at her impatiently and stepped closer, pointing insistently at the small cot in the corner of the room. She shuddered visibly at his nearness and shrank away, wholly intimidated by him, but he did something Ayla never would have anticipated. He stepped past her towards the doorway and glanced out into the ebon darkness of the cottage.

“Light your candle, speak your protections and leave him in his cradle.” He insisted through gritted teeth, urgency marking his every word. She stared at him perplexed, but only for a moment. Turning to look down upon Roshwyn, she relit her small candle, as well as the lantern, and began her intonation of protection. The words and light made the Dark One step out into the shadows of the hall, as if they sickened him, but they did not banish him back to the realm of Uunglarda as she had always thought they would. When she finished, Ayla turned with a knife of uncertainty twisting in her stomach, but before she had time to consider her next actions, he lunged into the room, grasped her by the wrist and drew her out into the dark corridor.

She recognized her folly immediately. In striving to protect the child, she had unwittingly sacrificed herself. In the darkness of the hall as he dragged her unfalteringly toward the only room in her home containing a mirror, she recalled the dire and dreadful warnings given to all young fey as they entered youth. A mirror never stood in a sleeping chamber for a mirror could never be left in darkness. Should a Dark One cross over, he would open the portal the mirror provided and summon his legion. Then they would cross in untold numbers visiting such vile acts of upon the young fey as could never be named. They would only return into their own realm when the first light of the sun crossed the horizon, leaving ruination and despair in their wake and, oftentimes, death.

“No!” She shrieked in absolute horror, straining against his grasp, leaning away from him, scratching at his hand, beating her wings with every ounce of strength she possessed, but her resistance seemed more an inconvenience to him than a problem. Tugging her along behind him, he strode purposefully into her boudoir, her private chamber of preparation, and turned toward the mirror. Raising his free hand toward the reflecting glass, he arched his wings as if setting himself against a foe and closed his eyes, beginning an incantation that was not spoken in the Dlalth tongue, but in a language she did not immediately recognize.

Where were all the spells of protection she had learned as a child? How could she have forgotten after repeating them, literally, thousands of times until she was weary of speaking? Her mind spun, her terror choked her, her breath came in ragged gasps, she shook like a willow in a November wind, but she could still hear him speaking in the mysterious language and, in spite of her fear, she could not prevent the shred of curiosity that made her pause and glance up at him. She realized in that brief moment of clarity that his hand around her wrist was not an iron of restriction, clamped around her like a manacle. In fact, astonishingly, he was not hurting her at all.

 

The mirror creaked like ice shifting on a frozen river, the sound making her tremble more fiercely. He was opening the portal. Desperation inundated her like a spring flood and she pulled against his restraining grasp more vehemently, but he did not even turn his head. Hauling her up against his side, he crossed his arm over her shoulders and pinned her against him, turning the edge of one broad wing toward her furious thrashings to threaten any further resistance with a glinting, ten-inch spine.

Suddenly, her training returned to her and words of protection filled her mind. She gasped them out in haste, but her voice was little more than a choked squeak. Regardless of the weakness in her chanting however, his reaction was instantaneous. Pausing in his invocation, he turned his head to look down at her with obvious irritation, pressed the cruel barb on his wing to the soft skin under her chin and raised his hand from her shoulder to cover her mouth. There was nothing more she could do to protect herself. She had been defeated in her first and only battle. She knew she was utterly lost.

Turning back to the mirror, he began again, the unrecognizable words ringing in her ears like chimes spinning her senses. She was falling under his spell. She was unable to struggle, unable to speak her own protection, unable to do anything other than listen as he opened the portal and wrought her destruction. Yet even in her panic-stricken state, she could not prevent her overly inquisitive mind from lucidly noting that his hand, pressed over her mouth, was not hurting her. He did not bruise her lips under the ferocity of his contact; he did not wrench her head backward with cruel disregard; he did not restrict her breathing. He was simply thwarting her ability to speak.

Why was he being so shockingly careful about not hurting her? Why had he permitted her to protect Roshwyn with Light as well as spell? Why had he pulled the nursery door closed quietly before proceeding to drag her down the hallway toward the mirror? She could not comprehend his entirely incongruous behavior. Moreover, she had always been told The Reviled were cold-blooded, heartless creatures; that the touch of a Dark Fey was icy as death itself, yet, pressed up against him as she was his surprising warmth was undeniable.

The mirror creaked more loudly, drawing her back to the horror of her present situation and, with these calamitous musings confusing her thoughts, she strained to see around his vast pinions and broad shoulders to watch the mirror with morbid curiosity.

Tiny shards like crystalline ice were stretching across the reflective pane, each splinter a minuscule prism that reflected any spark of light in the room, even the ineffectual glimmer of her diminishing aura and his ethereal, dark crimson glow. With each word he spoke, the crystals increased, growing in number, dimension and intensity until they spread across the glass like frost on a winter window. Scraping and creaking like snow scrunching underfoot on the coldest day, the shards in the mirror began to reflect their own luminosity and as he continued to speak the luster of the mirror intensified.

The Mirror

Then the mirror resounded with a deafening crack and she flinched abruptly away, a sharp cry escaping her muffled mouth. Even the Dark One recoiled from the force of the sound and fell silent. Petrified, she squeezed her eyes tightly closed and held her breath. He had opened the portal; his kind would soon rush in and then she would pray for death long before it would come. In her terror, she could not breathe, blackness swirled at the edges of her mind, and her knees grew weak. Almost imperceptibly, she began to collapse, sliding down the length of his strong frame with no measure of power left within her to break her fall.

Without a sound, the Dark One turned his head to look down at her and released her. He did not drop her or throw her to the floor like a worn out plaything; he took her by the shoulder and by the hand and lowered her to the floor at his feet. Her thoughts swirled at this additional peculiarity and, before she lost herself to fear completely and was swallowed up by blackness, she opened her eyes to peer up at him wanly, utterly bewildered.

The room was bathed in Light! The mirror was intact, not lying in a multitude of shattered pieces on the floor as she had expected, and, somehow, it stood aglow with radiant, incandescent Light that sparkled and reflected in its own shimmering! Blinking woozily in the brilliance, she gazed up at him and drew a deep breath.

What had he done?

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Discover More About Dark Fey on its official website

The Reviled
Standing in Shadows
Breaking Into The Light

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Forest Artwork by: Rongrong Wang
Amazing Dark Fey Illustration by: Hgjart at Deviantart.com
Mirror Image found on Google.

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#WriteFantasyFriday -House of Realms

21 Friday Jun 2019

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Authors, creative writing, Descriptive Writing, Fantasy Characters, Fantasy Writing, FantasyPrompt, Fiction Writers, Flash fiction, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt

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Welcome to the first ever #WriteFantasyFriday Fantasy writing prompt on BnV. 🙂

Using the photo prompt above, we will begin this (hopefully) fun writing exercise with a little world building.  Where is this amazing place?  What is it used for?  How did it come into being?  (just some thoughts – you don’t actually have to answer them.)  Your post should:

  • Include the tag #WriteFantasyFriday,
  • Use the title above
  • Be 500-750 words, (sorry, OUCH!)
  • Use this spectacular image as its inspiration.  Please also be SURE to credit the original artist, whose information is at the bottom of this post. 

Create a post on your own blog…write whatever you choose, (Please see post specifications and additional instructions here)  and link back to the prompt post on BnV with a pingback .  If you are unsure of how to create a pingback, find an excellent tutorial here.

To ensure I see them, and also to invite readers to visit your blog, please copy and paste your posts link into the comments section of this post.

Each week, I will feature selected posts from the week on BnV.  Thank you for sharing your time and amazing talent with all of us. I hope you will Enjoy!

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by John Stephens

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#Fantasy #WritingPrompt #Preview- Probing for Interest

14 Friday Jun 2019

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Authors, creative writing, Descriptive Writing, Fantasy Characters, Fantasy Writing, FantasyPrompt, Fiction Writers, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt

.

For my fellow writers: Would you be interested in a writing prompt series that would showcase your writing?

I’ve had this thought turning for several weeks in my mind to run a writing- prompt series on my blog. This wouldn’t be the same ol’ same ol’ and would not be quite like other writing prompt posts. It would be a picture/ image with a specific prompt in mind…. something you have to write about concerning the picture. Ok ok that’s your basic prompt- produce prefabrication, but this is the variation.

I’d post a picture like above and ask writers to create a character in 1000 words or less. Or I’d post a landscape and want writers to do a little world building. Maybe I’d post two characters and see what fantastic dialog they might have or what sort of conflict they would get into.

Being a fantasy writer, and someone who loves to create, the notion appeals, but does it appeal to you?

I welcome you’re feedback, because if your game, it’s a go!

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~Morgan ~

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#FridayFantasy – #Inspiring #Fantasy #Music

25 Friday May 2018

Posted by Morgan in Dark Fey, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Award Winning Books, Award Winning Fantasy, Epic Fantasy, Fantasy Books, Fantasy Preview, Kindle Fantasy, Music Inspirations, YA Fantasy

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If you’ve ever wondered what I listen to when writing, here’s some Music that helped Inspire the writing of Dark Fey

(Thanks to Richard Ankers for introducing me to this Fabulous group!!)

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Turning the shadowy corner, she thought to press on, in spite of the many Legionnaires filling the encampment; crowding round its many sulfur braziers with faces half-covered to protect themselves from the malodorous fumes while hoping to extract some measure of warmth from the ineffectual fires.  Disguised beneath the veil of bent light she had cast round herself in order to traverse the dangerous avenues of the Uunglarda unseen, Ilys stepped onward lightly without a sound or any indication of her presence; yet as she came to the end of the street, where a black tent marked the Centurion’s quarters,  a Legionnaire in crimson leather strode purposefully into the middle of the street, stopped directly in her path, and glared at her.

She froze; catching her breath and refusing to breathe so not to give herself away as her mind spun, seeking some means of escape.  She remained invisible behind the ripple of light she bent round herself, but his crimson stare pierced into her from beneath a broad, brown leather bandana, which kept his shoulder-length, jet black hair from falling into his eyes.  In the mustiness and reek of the Bathracht encampment, he had turned the collar of his coat up and had cinched it tightly to avert some measure of the noxious fumes poisoning the air. He stood unmoving with his arms crossed assertively across his broad chest while, in an incongruously non-threatening gesture, his held his wings tightly folded behind him.

Hesitating long enough to make it clear that he was aware of her, regardless of her invisible guise; he stared at her fixedly and his crimson gaze sent a shiver through her.  Memory served her well, but in a realm where nearly all the inhabitants had blood-hued eyes, she could not distinguish him from the many other Legionnaires that had, at one time or another since her Integration, used her for sport or had been forced to do so.  Fear blended with anger that mixed with hatred within her, boiling into a rage that was nearly uncontrollable; still, she was not foolish enough to think she would be capable of injuring a Demonfey who towered nearly fourteen inches over her and whose physique boasted unmistakably of his strength.

“Yes, I can see you.”  His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, but it sent a shudder through her that made her teeth chatter…..

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A preview of Dark Fey:  Breaking Into The Light

The Epic YA Fantasy Trilogy Dark Fey is set in the fantastical realm of Jyndari, a world of beauty, magic, Bright Light and Devouring Darkness. It relates a story about the Life-changing Strength of Hope, the Value of Acceptance, and the world-changing Power of Forgiveness through a tale that is brutally beautiful.

The only way to achieve Peace is to become Peace.

The Reviled: http://mybook.to/thereviled
Standing In Shadows: http://mybook.to/standinginshadows
Breaking Into The Light: http://mybook.to/BreakingLight

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~Morgan~

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Inspiring Original Music by Within Temptation

Save

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#FridayFantasy – Liason – #Poem of #Seasons

27 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Beautiful Photographs, BnV, BooknVolume, Change of Seasons, Nature, Poem, poetry, Poetry Blog, Progression of Seasons, relationships, Romance, Seasons, Shifting Seasons, ~Morgan~

 

Liason2

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Softly she calls to him

A Breathless whisper upon the wind,

Shapeless

Drifting

Passion blossoming to him Whim.

 

Delicately she urges him

A Tender Caress through ephemeral time

Taunting

Teasing

Yearning Cradling his Transient Rhyme.

 

Tenderly he speaks to her

Tempering his Ardent Rush

Calming

Soothing

Smiling at her Lavish Blush.

 

Softly he calls to her

A Breathless murmur upon Falling Leaves

Passing

Clasping

Longing Unceasing,

Gathering the harvest of her fertile sheaves.

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Liason

 

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Photography found on Google Image search.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Photographer.  Thank You~

Beautiful Original Artwork by:  sktneh at deviantart.com

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#FridayFantasy – Hide and Seek – #Fantasy #Poetry

27 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Dreams, Enchantment, Fantasy, Fantasy Realm, Mythical Creatures, Mythology, Poem, poetry, ~Morgan~

Hide and Seek

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Enchantment Rules the Game

Where the Game Rules Enchantment

Seeking One

Finding None

Hide and Seek Predicament

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Artwork found on: Fairies, dragons and other mythological creatures Facebook. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Artist. Thank You~

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#FridayFantasy – Arvansys and Gwynzeles – #Fantasy #FlashFiction

20 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

BnV, BooknVolume, Creation Myth, creative writing, Dreams, Imagination, Mythical Beings, Mythical Creatures, Mythical Realm, Short Stories, ~Morgan~

Arvansys 1

.

A very long time ago, before anybody had ever been born, there lived a creature very unlike you and me that roamed these lands alone. He was enormous, more than four times the height of man and three times as wide. He resembled a human, though he was not mortal.  His long black hair was unkempt; his eyes were gray, his skin pale, and his nails sharp. Through his hair protruded two curved horns and attached to his back was a pair of stunning silver wings of dragon-hide with small talons at the tips. He was both beautiful and terrifying to behold, and his name was Arvansys.

For the entirety of his being, Arvansys was free to explore anywhere on land or in the skies. He coexisted with the plants and animals harmoniously, but Arvansys knew something was missing. No matter what he did, he could not find complete contentment with the flora and fauna that surrounded him; they were suitable companions, but he wanted something… more. After a while, the animals, plants, and even the clouds in the sky began to notice Arvansys’s depression.

One spring morning, while the leaves and blades of grass were still covered with dew, Arvansys was walking through the forest when he came across a dead tree stump. It was old and hollow, but two branches remained on either side, leafless. He stared at the lifeless tree for a few moments, and suddenly, he had a thought! He knew what it was that he longed for. Hurriedly, Arvansys searched the area for leaves, twigs, and stones, piling the collection at the base of the tree. When he had collected a sufficient amount, he used the various pieces of nature to decorate the stump. Upon his completion, Arvansys stepped back to admire his handiwork: the remainder of a tree trunk had disappeared, and in its place stood a piece of art. He had used the twigs and rocks to liken the stump to another creature like himself, but as a female. Arvansys yearned for her to be real, to be able to share a friendship with her so deep that they would be together until the end of time. He even knew what her name would be, if she were real – Gwynnzeles.

dryad

Suddenly overpowered by his desire, Arvansys fell to the ground and sat in front of his would-be mate. He found a decently large stick on the ground near his feet, hollowed it, and carved it to create a musical instrument. In order that he might express his emotions and pining, Arvansys began to create beautiful yet melancholy music. These notes and feelings floated upward and eventually found their way to the stump of “Gwynnzeles”. The music spiraled around her when suddenly the tree stump was no longer lifeless.

Arvansys became aware of a new presence before him and looked up. There, standing in front of him, was a gorgeous creature with delicate horns on her head, long blonde hair, and a set of breathtaking, almost translucent periwinkle wings. Arvansys knew right away that this was her. Both he and his heart leaped for joy and he took her into his arms, spinning both of them around and up above the clouds. He was no longer alone, for Gwynnzeles was finally by his side. As they danced together in the skies, all of the earth and sky celebrated; even the clouds were so happy that they shed tears of bliss. Where these tears hit the ground, little flowers grew quickly and morphed into human beings – our ancestors.

When they had finally settled down, Arvansys and Gwynnzeles returned to the world and took up new responsibilities caring for all of nature and the skies, so that the new people with which they now shared the land could flourish.

Garden

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This wonderful myth of Creation was written by my beautiful niece Katelyn.
I simply had to share it 🙂

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original artwork by Rongrong Wang at Deviantart.com and Shamail

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#FridayFantasy – Dream Stalker – #FantasyBooks #Preview

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

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BnV, BooknVolume, Dark Fantasy, Dreams, Fantasy Books, Fantasy Characters, Nightmares, Poem, poetry, Poetry Blog, Temptation, Wizards and Warlocks, YA Fantasy, ~Morgan~

Dream Stalker

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He Seeks with Visions pressing in,

Darkness Spiraling through the void;

Whispers of Unheard Dichotomy,

With Dreams so Delicately employed.

 

He Delves with Diligence Unleashed,

Insistent where fools may fear to tread;

As Shadows billow in the silver-lush light,

Trading Impetus for stealth instead.

 

He Merges with Yielding Starlit Sighs,

Grasping hold without a single Touch;

Voluptuous Night expanding before him

Like mist curling softly, Permeating much.

 

He Asks through Intractable, Silent tones,

Taking All he cares to Possess;

Stirring the Nighttide with Succulent auras,

Tempestuous fury in Alluring Aggress.

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A Poetic Preview of Dark Fey:  Breaking Into The Light

Discover more about Dark Fey

~Morgan~

. *** A Dream-Stalker is a Dark Fey who comes in dreams, much like an incubus, to tempt, dismay, or to delve secrets otherwise unplundered.  In Dark Fey:  Breaking Into The Light, the leader of all Dark Fey possesses this rarest of all abilities and uses it remorselessly to serve his own, dark means. ***

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Beautiful Artwork found on Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Artist.  Thank You~

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#FridayFantasy #Poetry – The Arch

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ 3 Comments

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BnV, BooknVolume, Existentialism, Magic, Meditation, Metaphysical Thinking, Poem, poetry, Poetry Blog, Space and Time, spirituality, ~Morgan~

The Arch

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The Arch of Blackness

Reaching from Time

Measure and Pleasure

Existentialism sublime

The Arch Expanding

Caressing the Mind

Essence Bending

In the Paradoxical Rhyme

The Arch Spreading Quietly

Referencing the Night

Turning and Burning

A metaphysical Light

The Arch Speaking Softly

Whispering Consolation

Tenderly Emblazoning

This Transfiguration

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork:  “The Starcatcher” by Pat Brennan

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#FridayFantasy – Among our Dreams – #Poetry

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

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BnV, BooknVolume, Dreams, Fantasy, Imagination, Love Poetry, Night, Poem, poetry, Poetry Blog, Romance, Twilight, ~Morgan~

Among our dreams

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Fly with me through the Winds of Night,

Beyond the Clouds,

Into the Unknown,

And there,

Upon the Wings of Twilight

We Shall Dance Among Our Dreams.

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Nene Thomas

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#FridayFantasy – Here in my Mind #Fantasy #Teaser

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Dark Fey, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

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BnV, BooknVolume, Epic Fantasy, Fairies, Fantasy, Fantasy Books, Fantasy Realm, Fantasy Websites, Writing, YA Fantasy, ~Morgan~

website

“Ayla.”

Unexpectedly, her mind filled with a low, drawn out whisper; the deep baritone of the speaker frighteningly familiar and she gasped again, louder than before.

It was him.

“Oh, not now!”  She cried out into the hush of her small home, but the persistent answer came back all too quickly.

“Now, Ayla.”  The whisper was so close, the thought piercing her mind as if he stood mere inches away from her and she swayed under the potency of his presence, her lashes fluttering.

“Where?”  She thought, seeking him, but not finding him.  How could he be so close and, still, not be inside the cottage?  He was closer than ever before.  Once again, his reply to her question was instantaneous.

“Here.”  His deep voice echoed in her mind, but she opened her eyes just the same, searching her parlor, expecting to see him at last; but her two-dimensional thinking brought insidious laughter to the edges of her consciousness and she shook her head at her own folly.  Fool!  She thought, admonishing her own simplicity.

“Here inside my mind?”  She inquired, almost in disbelief and once more the answer came back to her so quickly it seemed he was capable of reading her thoughts before she could even think them.

“Yes.”

~An Excerpt from Dark Fey: The Reviled~

Entire Chapter available for sample  

Discover More about Dark Fey

The Reviled Review

~Morgan~

 

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#FridayFantasy – The Protagonist Speaks – #Epic #YA #CharacterSpotlight

23 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Dark Fey, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

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BnV, BooknVolume, Character Interview, Character Spotlight, Epic Fantasy, Fantasy, Fantasy Characters, Fantasy Preview, Fantasy Trilogy, Kindle Books, YA Fantasy, ~Morgan~

.

Fellow Fantasy author and blogger  Assaph Mehr has a website solely dedicated to character interviews!  Very Cool, right?!  The Protagonist Speaks  is dedicated to the characters living inside the books we love. Each week they aim to publish an interview with a protagonist from a novel they believe in.  Yep, you read that right. The protagonist – or antagonist! – from the book. Not the author. Not the reviewer. The character. They aim to put the characters in the limelight – to be heard, to be felt. …Which is a notion I believe in as well, since I also do Character Spotlights.

So when Assaph said he’d enjoy talking with Gairynzvl, the lead of my Epic YA Fantasy Dark Fey Trilogy, I couldn’t refuse.   Gairynzvl could, of course.  One never knows when it comes to unpredictable malefey, but fortunately he was in a talkative mood.  Below you will find the conversation, and the link to the full interview on Assaph’s site.

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Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

My life has been dichotic.  I spent my first seven years in the village Hwyndarin with my family and the Fey of the Light. It is a place of simple beauty and communal living, where each villager shares life’s responsibilities and burdens.  I was very young, but remember playing with friends and learning to fly amid the forests, streams and meadows bathed in sunlight.

When I reached 7 ½, I was abducted by the Reviled Fey and spent the next 15 years of my life trying to survive the gloom and shadows of their dark realm, the Uunglarda.  No sunlight warms their barren dominion and the skies are choked with soot and poisonous fumes.  I suffered the Integration; five years of neglect designed to turn childfey into monsters and each day was a torment of hunger, thirst, cold, and abuse.

Gosh, that sounds horrible.  How did you manage to hold onto hope?  Was is a cherished memory, a favourite toy you clung to, a friend?

We had no toys in the Uunglarda, and very few friends, but I was determined not to forget the ones I had and to see them again.  I kept the Light alive any way I could, mostly by repeated prophecies I had already learned and secretly studying others.  Although I had to keep it completely hidden, which was not easy in a place where you are forced to do horrible things every day, as time went on, I formed a few secret alliances with Dark Ones who wanted to escape as much as I did and our mutual dream of freedom kept hope alive.

What do you do now?

Even though I have returned to the Light and live in Hwyndarin once again, I spend much of my time training with an exclusive unit of Fey Guards dedicated to the covert operation of returning into the Uunglarda at undisclosed times to rescue younglings and those Dark Fey who wish to escape. 

That’s very heroic, but also dangerous, isn’t it?  Have you always been driven to risk so much for others?

It is unquestionably dangerous, but also a self-rewarding sacrifice and one I am very willing to make, especially when I can see childfey restored to their families or those who will love and care for them.  I would never call myself heroic, though I might agree with driven.  Some of my friends describe me as tenacious and the Reviled thought me infuriatingly stubborn, (well, some of my friends say that too!)  I simply choose to believe that positive action creates positive results and this conviction has proven true.  Consequently, I am motivated to do more because it is so satisfying.

When you first decided to take such risks to help yourself and others, did you think you would succeed?

Honestly, no, but it was all I had; it was the only thing that kept me from being consumed by darkness.  When I doubted, I forced myself to read and re-read the ancient texts, searching for anything that might help.  When I met others who were doing what I was, it became easier to believe we would achieve our goal, but it was only when I first saw Ayla, the Fey of the Light Child Guardian who helped me when no one else would, that I knew with certainty I would stand in the Light once more.

Reaching out to her was extremely risky, wasn’t it?  What was the most frightening thing about risking so much?

I risked everything and, believe me, it was terrifying. I lived in fear for months.  If the Reviled had found out or caught me, I would have faced unbearable torture as a traitor.  If Ayla had chosen not to listen to me and help, my only chance of escape would have failed, and if she had told others about the dark one who was following her for months trying to communicate with her from the shadows, I could have been captured and thrown into the Prison of Daylight; executed by the same Light I sought to return to. 

Fey of the Light are taught from a very young age to fear the Reviled.  As one of them, what was the hardest thing you had to do to convince her she could trust you?

The night I chose to confront her was stormy and the darkness aided my crossing, but I knew coming face to face with a Dark Fey, alone, would frighten her immeasurably.  So, I had taught myself a spell that would protect her from the Legion I was forced to traveled with by casting a brilliant light, which would block them from crossing over to harm her and give me time to convince her I was no threat.  It was difficult not only because I had no desire to scare her, but the light I used to protect her, at the time, was lethal to me.  If she had not chosen to act and help me, it would have killed me.    

Risking so much was certainly difficult; so, what was the best part of that night?

Ayla used her very special gifts to help me escape the torrent of light I had created.  She covered me with her body; extended her strength to bolster my own and physically dragged me into the darkness of the parlor before it was too late.  I remember standing there in the shadows trying to catch my breath as the sensation of burning I had been suffering subsided.  She lay on the floor at my feet, utterly exhausted and overwhelmed; yet she did not try to run from me.  In fact, she reached up to touch my hand, as if making sure I was all right.  It was an extremely intense moment. For 15 years, no one had done anything for me; yet, although she was frightened, overcome, and wracked by physical and emotional pain that was not her own (because she had connected with mine), she did not retreat from me, but chose to draw closer. 

That was and still is the most indescribable feeling I have ever experienced.   

Are you still close to Ayla?

Yes, I am.

What does the future hold for the two of you?

She is my Beloved One, but this is all I will say.

Some things are too personal to talk about?

Something like that.

(smiling) I understand, but before we end our conversation, can you share a secret with us, which you’ve never told anyone else?

Hmmm?  Sure, I know something, a very old prophecy, that can change the world for all Fey…… 

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I would like to thank Assaph for this marvelous opportunity. It was a pleasure learning more about Gairynzvl, even for me, who wrote him.   Please be sure to visit The Protagonist Speaks to read more fantastic character interviews (or to set one up for your own character!)

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Discover more about the Dark Fey Trilogy

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by HJGArt and  Negshin at Deviantart.com

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#FridayFantasy – Shifting

23 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ 5 Comments

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Bipolar, BnV, BooknVolume, life, Perception, Poem, poetry, Poetry Blog, Sense of Self, spirituality, time, Whispers, ~Morgan~

Shifting 1

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Perceptions shift in the rustling Indigo,

Uncertainty Spinning with the Forgotten Long Ago,

Whispers of what was once mere Rhyme,

Now congeal and collide in the Arc of Time,

To Underscore and Intersperse with Ebon Colours Lifting,

Like Perception in the Rustling Indigo, Ethereally Shifting.

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Katarina-Sokolova

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Friday Fantasy #Character Spotlight: Jean – the Last Eternal Lord

23 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by Morgan in Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

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BnV, BooknVolume, Character Interview, Character Spotlight, creative writing, Fantasy, Indie Authors, Vampires, ~Morgan~

 THE ETERNALS Titler

.

This is a repost of the Character Spotlight Author Roari Benjamin did for Richard Ankers on his marvelous character JEAN in his Vampire/Dystopian Trilogy – The Eternals.  Posted here in its entirety for your reading pleasure.

In this Character Spotlight, I’m excited to introduce you to another wonderful, fellow author, Richard M. Ankers, and his new series, The Eternals. He’s taking over the stage to shine the Spotlight on Jean – the last Eternal Lord – and to give us a glimpse of a future where vampires have evolved, and outlasted humankind. However, they are bound to a dying world, so, it seems even eternity has an end. Unless someone does something. Soon. But, who among these Eternals, waltzing their way into oblivion, might take action?

Let me just put on a little Strauss to set the mood…. There, that’s better. Now, without futher ado, Richard, the spotlight is yours!
*****
An Introduction to Jean – the last Eternal Lord – from Author Richard M. Ankers

Jean is the lead character and main protagonist in the first book of The Eternals trilogy. The Eternals are an ancient race evolved, at least in their opinion, from the vampires of old. They live at the end of time where humanity are extinct, their sun is soon to die, and them along with it. Most dispute or ignore this salient detail. They would waltz into a decadent death instead of fighting to prevent it.

Jean is an orphan and the last born Eternal. Since the suicides of his parents and their ridiculing by The Hierarchy, the planet’s elite, he has grown increasingly melancholy. Jean hates everything and everyone except for the new love of his life, Princess Linka. If only he’d not gone and killed her sister! Aided and abetted by his incompetent friend-cum-nemesis, Sir Walter Merryweather of Britannia, he deems it is time to do what nobody else will: something.

the-eternals-complete

A Taster (From Chapter One of The Eternals)

Chantelle’s cold, dead hand slipped into my own like velvet ice.
“The balcony, Monsieur?”

“Please, Jean. You know formality makes me feel old, Princess.”

“Are you not?” she giggled.

I gave her a narrow-eyed glare.

In sashaying majesty, she led me out onto the moonlit balcony, a slight breeze stirring the purple silks of her gowns and tousling those flowing, raven locks. Neither the orchestra, nor revellers, noticed our absence, all far too absorbed with their petty pleasures.

Scattered geranium bushes emitted a faint pomade into the night in wafts of delicious perfume. The fragrance circulated in the evening’s air currents mixing with Chantelle’s own exquisite scents. She was everything a man could have desired, perfection personified.

“Come here.” I pulled her close, uncaring of prying eyes. I cared for nothing else, so why should that have mattered.

“Come here Princess,” she corrected, pressing hidden curves against my body.

If I could have remembered what happiness felt like, then that moment would have come close, her demure eyelash batting only adding to the allure.

“Beautiful, is it not, Jean?”

“Not as beautiful as you,” I said and leaned out over the balustrade. The red waters of the Danube looped their turgid way around the palace perimeter forming a natural barrier to uninvited guests. That was the exact purpose of their design. Nature had never had a say in it.

“Shall we?” Chantelle purred, as the reinvigorated orchestra drew my attention back from the river. There was only one kind of music for such occasions: Strauss.

We waltzed in slow circles to the ironic notes of the Blue Danube. I doubted the composer would have generated the same response to his masterpiece if titled red. A searchlight moon shone down from amongst a twinkling eternity, as we twirled across the polished, ebony floor. Could there have been anything better? I very much doubted it. Just because one was dead did not preclude them from appreciating the finer things in life.

I’d been experiencing the best of life for the last five hundred or so years and unlike some, I’d enjoyed every second. What was there not to have liked? To have wined and dined with those of undeniable breeding, shared tailors with kings and queens, walked along gothic promenades without fear, that was the life, or death, I’d dreamed of. I’d never missed the sunlight and felt it terribly overrated. The sun had given such a false sense of wellbeing to the living. Only in the crystal clarity of a sparkling moon did the true reality of an object shine. The snake was not a slithering, ugly beast, but a sensual, seductive coil of a creature. The bat far outshone the bird for it required none of the adulation that the avian so craved. And the wolf, ah, the wolf, what could one say? To see the grey wolves of old backlit by a hunter’s moon was a thing of surreal majesty. In a world of sculpted pleasures; toned to compliment the night; crafted for exuberance, I had walked unhindered. Who was I trying to convince, I hated it all! How I envied the wolves their freedom the one thing I would never possess.

“Shall we remain out here under the stars, Monsieur?”

The beautiful French accent of my partner snapped me from my musings.
“Tell me, Jean, what is your wish?”

“To be with you.”

“You can be with me anytime, but in this moment only once.”

“I can close my eyes and imagine this moment anytime I require.”

“That is not the same thing and you know it,” she berated. Another batting of those dark lashes caused a brief disturbance in her sparkling, amethyst eyes.

“No, probably not, but I shall still enjoy doing so.”

She tilted her head to one side as if it helped her think. “You know, Jean,” she whispered. “With your long, dark hair and those brooding, black eyes, you really are to die for.” Chantelle flicked her hair back and grinned, her elegant, porcelain neck beckoning.

It was a momentary thing, an uncontrollable urge, as I plunged dagger fangs into flesh, and sucked, and savoured, and drank.

How long I sated, I did not know, but it was too long. By the time I’d finished, the metallic tang of her blood saturated my tongue, and she was gone. I had taken her past the point of no return where Eternal lust and immortality merged. My lapse shattered the one sacrosanct law of Eternal life, the original sin, the forbidden link to a shameful past: I’d killed Princess Chantelle of The New Europa Alliance, sole daughter of King Rudolph and for the first time in an age, panicked!

As a rule, I was quite unflappable, after all, what was there to get in a flap about when you were already dead? But killing a princess certainly qualified. So, I kept on dancing, holding Chantelle close, and edged my way past the double doors to the balcony’s edge. Twisting our conjoined forms around, I surveyed the merriment within the ballroom: revellers swayed to the orchestration ignorant of all but themselves. A smirk escaped the confines of my lips. Once sure of our privacy, I leapt the rails with my burden. It was a drop of about thirty feet, nothing to such as I, and quickly made my way to the tree-lined riverbank. Clutching Chantelle tight, as a lover might, I again made certain of our solitude. Where my Eternal eyes could not see my senses, scent and hearing, took charge. They all confirmed that there was nobody present but me and my corpse. I waited for an opportune cloud to obscure the moon and then flung her departed form far into the claret waters. Chantelle’s limp form hit the surface with an undignified plop, and then slipped away in stages, her raven hair the last to depart as kelp in a wavering sea. I’d have liked to say I was sorry to see her go, but to be honest, I was at best indifferent.

Retracing my steps to beneath the balcony, I had a sudden epiphany: I could not go back the same way. People were bound to have seen us both step onto the balcony. No, another escape route was required.

Not wishing to be found outside alone, I spotted some sturdy looking climbing ivy and, in a reversal of parasitic behaviour, scaled it to the top of the palace. I felt no lethargy as I hauled myself up and over a particularly hideous gargoyle to the palace roof, Chantelle’s blood had quite reinvigorated me.

Having always enjoyed a spectacular view, I took a moment to savour my surroundings. It was incredible! Class told, and that most opulent of pleasure domes dripped with it. Positioned with a full view of both mountains and river, the Comte de Burgundy, a clever play on colour as he was certainly of no royal heritage, could keep his vampiric eye on all and sundry. Not that there was anyone to keep an eye on anymore, but I suspected him a tad insecure and it probably aided his sleep. I envied him his home though. If he’d built it for himself, I could neither remember, nor recall witnessing, but it showed him in a finer light than he warranted. I could not stand the little runt, otherwise.

I meandered across the inclined roof looking for somewhere to gain access to the main halls, when I realised, I’d been revealed.

“Good evening, Jean,” came the whining voice of Sir Walter Merryweather.

“Good evening,” I responded with a casual air.

“Taking a stroll?”

“No, I am in fact lost. I was looking for the latrine and somehow found myself in front of the wrong kind of pot.”

“Tee-hee, yes, quite.”

“And you?”

“Boredom, as always.”

Continued in The Eternals…….

Interview with jean

*****

SWM: “It’s me, I’m here to interview you.”

JEAN: “Oh, God, not you, Merryweather.”

SWM: “Charming!”

JEAN: “What do you want?”

SWM: “The clue was in the opening.”

JEAN: “I don’t like talking to you at the best of times.”

SWM: “You don’t like talking to anyone. That’s why I’m the ideal host, we both want it over with.”

JEAN: “True.”

SWM: “So?”

JEAN: “So what?”

SWM: “What’s your answer?”

JEAN: “You haven’t asked me a question yet.”

SWM: “Touché. Well, I suppose we might as well get straight down to the nitty gritty. Why did you bite old Princess Charlotte?”

JEAN: “Chantelle.”

SWM: “Whichever.”

JEAN: “I couldn’t help it.”

SWM: “One cannot help stumbling, forgetting to clean one’s teeth, even to eat, but murdering a lover by draining their blood is another thing altogether.”

JEAN: “I don’t know what else to say. At that moment, it was inevitable.”

SWM: “As inevitable as ditching her in the Danube?”

JEAN: “No, that was just practical.”

SWM: “I see.”

JEAN: “Do you?”

SWM: “Not really. So what’s for Jeany-boy, the Vagabond Prince, next.”

JEAN: “Jean, if you don’t mind. And, I don’t know why people keep calling me that.”

SWM: “Ah, so young. So very young.”

JEAN: “I’ll so very young you!”

SWM: “Always resorting to violence, an outlet for the dimwitted, and you, my friend, may be many things but never that.”

JEAN: “Thanks, I think?”

SWM: “You’re welcome. So, what next? What are you going to do now everyone wants you dead?”

JEAN: “I don’t know.”

SWM: “We’re not really getting very far.”

JEAN: “Ask me something else then.”

SWM: “All right, I will. You seem to have gone through hell lately what with murderlising one princess and falling in love with her sister. It is love, isn’t it, Jean?”

JEAN: “That’s my business.”

SWM: “Not now. Anyhoo, what would you, an Eternal Lord, do to keep her now that old Crown Prince Vladivar has whisked her away to that rust bucket of a castle of his?”

JEAN: “Oh, only one thing, Walter.”

SWM: “Ooh, you called me by my first name, you must mean business.”

JEAN: “Oh, indeed.”

SWM: “So?”

JEAN: “I’m going to kill him and every other person who gets in my way.”

SWM: “I wish I hadn’t asked that now.”

JEAN: “Why?”

SWM: “Because…”

(Merryweather’s laughter fades away as he exists stage left leaving Jean as lonely and alone as he was, is, and always has been.)

*****

Now, I admit to sinking my teeth into a number of vampire novels over the years, though, none quite like this, I think. I don’t know about you, but, this “taster” leaves me thirsting for more!

To read on, get your copy of The Eternals by Richard M. Ankers at Amazon now!

Amazon US: amazon.com/Richard-M.-Ankers

Amazon UK: amazon.co.uk/-/e/B01GEM7690

For more of Richard’s writing, visit his WordPressBlog: richardankers.com.

Or, to follow him via social media:

Twitter: @Richard_Ankers

Facebook Author Page: facebook.com/richardmankers

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/15271976.Richard_M_Ankers

Pinterest: Richard_Ankers

 

Interested in having YOUR character interviewed or spotlighted?  Contact Roari here:  http://roaribenjamin.blogspot.com/

 

~Morgan~

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