Jeric went on his way and left the graves behind, but felt as though he still carried the weight of them in his pack. This was what it felt like, now, to truly be alone. He tried to summon the raven back to him. Then, at least, he might feel like there was something else but emptiness inside of him. But no matter how hard he focused, he couldn’t bring it to him. He thought he might sprout a few feathers, turn his foot to a claw, but nothing came of it. Perhaps it had been a one-time curse after all. Only he could be so lucky that his entire life should be ruined by a one-time miracle. Well, that wasn’t true. In a way, his life had already been ruined once. And it had turned into something new, something worth cherishing. Maybe it would again. “That’s the spirit,” Vesper called from the road ahead, waving along with the grasses and the wildflowers, beckoning him to the great, wild world.

Rules: Chose one word, and only one word, that spoils your entire wip but the audience will have to read the book to find out why

Rules: answer what you associate with your OC in each category!

Smiling, but not sure how to continue the bit, I gathered up the cards and started to absentmindedly shuffle them. I’d shuffled the deck three times before Mika said anything. “I tried to leave once.”

“I didn’t tell her our plan. She’s already afraid of him, I showed it to her and asked if she was interested in learning if he had any weaknesses. She was. She doesn’t have to know what we’re planning to want to know what could take him down, and I don’t think there’s any harm in her knowing it. Mika hates Alexander as much as we do.” I was talking more than I needed to, but it was on purpose. There was a risk in saying too much, but it served another purpose, too— it kept the other person in the room from thinking too hard, split up their attention. Zachary had taught me that, but it didn’t mean he was immune to it.

I looked at Raymond, ready for him to correct her. When he hesitated, I said, “You did, right? Because if you didn’t and they found out—“ “You just want to keep everyone in the dark, don’t you? You don’t care if it effects them.” Mika snapped at me.

She sees me staring and sighed. “You know. Come on. Zachary was obsessed with [Raymond]— he’s go good at Nyp stuff, so likable, so good at school and making friends and getting people to like him. You hated the attention he got, I know you did, but there you are, risking your life for him. And even now, does Alexander even think to make use of my talents? No, but he’ll set up elaborate schemes to get Raymond’s.” I must’ve given her some judgmental look, because she waved me away. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I’m not jealous, it’s put him in so much danger and attracted so much bad attention. And if he wasn’t like that, he wouldn’t be alive.” She shook her head. “Forget I said that. It was stupid.”

Prologue: Astra II Queen Mara tells Astra's brothers of their fate.

Rules: post sentences from your WIP that each start with the letter of the given word!

He stood up and took a step towards me; I hefted the crowbar onto my good shoulder, ready to swing it if I needed to. The back of his head was missing from where Arnauld’s bullet had exited; the crowbar would finish the rest off.

Then, her face breaks into a smile. “And what would you know about romance? Real romance. You, with your ha’penny pick-up lines?”

Right outside the counselor's office. It must've been a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday. He had a black eye from fighting with some older boys and wouldn't tell me why. "Don't be mad at me," he said. "Stop doing mad things." He frowned so slightly that nobody else would've noticed. "Keep me in temper." I poked his chest. "Trying to sway me with Shakespeare?" "Is it working?" "Hm. A little." He took my face in his hands and lowered his lips to mine, gentle despite his bruised knuckles. It was chaste, over as soon as it started. When he pulled away, he was shaking so hard that I threw my head back and laughed until he joined in. I didn't have a name for the flood in my chest. I didn't know anything except that I wanted him to kiss me again.

She's usually short-tempered, but it's odd for her to pick a fight so blatantly. Trouble with the rebellion perhaps, or an ill-fated Mortae orientation, or a slight eastward breeze… Anything could've sparked the irritation shimmering behind her eyes. I know better than to bite. A hook in my gills, fileted and grilled over a campfire. I've learned a thousand lessons in this room— No, I've learned the same lesson a thousand times. "When I placed you in that woman's womb, I didn't expect you to grow so attached. The hands that caught you when you entered this world were not mine, but do you think I wasn't watching?" Errant energy surges in my chest, turning the air in my lungs to fire, then smoke. "When you moved through the market, swiping rolls and meat, who darkened the shadows around you? Who spun the wind at your back? Who softened your footsteps?" My mouth moves before I can swallow the words. "You let me die." She slams her fist on the desk. The ashtray clatters against the wood. "I gave you eternity. Do not tempt me to take it away."

rules: go search "name + core" on pinterest, post the first six photos, and tag people!!

After the weeks of uncertainty and conflicting theories associated with one case, Zhan was relieved to find this new case looked straightforward. Dr. Luo's findings were clear and to the point. "He's been dead at least twelve hours. Cause of death—" Here the doctor became very technical, before summarising with, "A fall that caused a fractured skull and internal bleeding." "The body was found beneath a flight of stairs," Zhan said. "That's simple enough. He was drunk?" The doctor said, "Yes," in a tone that warned Zhan the case wouldn't be as simple as he hoped. Dr. Luo frowned at his notes. "A fall down a flight of stairs would cause bruising all over the body. The state of this body looks like he fell out of a window: a sheer drop, with all of the injuries on one side. The left side, in this case. His left arm and several ribs are broken. His right side is uninjured." Zhan looked at him, then at the body covered by a sheet. He got up and climbed the stairs. When he was half-way up he stopped. He looked down at the stairs and imagined falling down them. Then he looked over the banister and imagined falling straight down. "It would depend on how he fell," he said. "If he tripped and went headlong down the stairs, he might not have hit enough of them to be bruised." "Possibly not," the doctor agreed. He still didn't sound convinced. "It's odd that there are no bruises on his hands at all. When someone falls down the stairs — no matter how many stairs they land on — they put their hands out to save themselves." "Do you think he was murdered?" Zhan asked him bluntly. "No, but I'm not convinced he fell down the stairs."

The swell and dip of her voice fills the air like a familiar song on a new playlist. I can almost pretend that we’re eight years old again, waiting for my dad to drive us to softball practice. We’ll sit in the outfield and pull up grass. A ladybug will crawl on her thigh, and she’ll scream until I nudge it to crawl onto my finger. It’ll fly away. We’ll watch it go. “Em,” I say, interrupting her prattling. She looks up, lashes fluttering around ice-blue eyes. “Did you win?” “Hm?” “Homecoming queen. I didn’t hear the announcement.” “Oh.” She fusses with the worn hem of her shirt. “Yeah. I did.”