Aire and Skye Alchemy-Trifecta

Part 6 of Ariadne's story- See tab above

 Count Reiner strode into the courtyard with his courtier, who began probing about the garden. When Reiner bobbed his head in her direction, every pleasant buzz and bird song stopped. The sun moved behind a cloud, turning the garden shadowy and ominously silent.

Aire and Skye-Trifecta and WOE

Later that afternoon, Ariadne sat in the courtyard, looking at her mother’s book. She was frustrated that her spell had not worked. “How am I going to protect myself from grandfather, if I can’t concoct a workable spell?” She wondered aloud. “This is the same as imprisonment.” Exasperated she tossed the book into the flower bed, raising a flurry of dust, scattering insects and birds.

“Ow, Arie, that hurts!”

Startled, Ariadne saw coming from under the book, a glowing orb, growing larger amongst the jasmine. It burst open and Ariadne saw, a beautiful creature rubbing her head in pain.

Audience - Trifecta/WOE

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Ariadne awoke to Tilde shaking her vigorously. “Lady, lady, the Duke commands you to join him at court this morning, you must get up!

Still somewhat groggy from her efforts last evening, she gazed around her chamber, hoping for a sign of success. Walking to her balcony window, she stepped back as she realized there was a bustle of activity below. “Tilde, what is going on?

“I'm not sure; riders arrived in the night, and they have been closeted with the Duke, since,” she replied.

Magic Spell \ Write on Edge/Trifecta

Magic Spell-Forever Arts

Feigning a headache; Ariadne sent regrets to Grandfather about missing the evening meal. Dismissing Tilde, she worked alone in her chamber, gathering the elements needed for her spell. The evening is warm, fearing that Grandfather’s allies and cronies might be about the courtyard below, she moved to close the window.

Empowerment-Trifecta- Write on Edge Challenges

July 1st, 2010 by Ed Grabianowski Robot Viking

She is watched constantly and never allowed to wander, since guards noted the broken seal on Mama’s former chambers. They report to the Duke, her grandfather, that nothing appeared to be disturbed. So the secrets of the chest are still hers.

Ariadne lived a marvelous life before these awful times. Growing up she rarely saw the old man. Her life revolved around Mama and Papa’s rooms, courtyard and a tiny bewitching copse of trees surrounding a grassy hillock. Here, she played happily.

Friday Fill-Ins

Courtesy of NASA

1. In New England, the fall provides beautiful foliage. I want to go as I have never been to the east.
2. We have not had LOTS of snow so far, that makes me happy.
3. Ahhhh, There is no chance the asteroid is going to hit the earth, THIS time.

TRIFEXTRA

This weekend we are venturing into uncharted territories once again. This Trifextra isn't so much a writing challenge; it's more of a reading challenge. We want you to scour through your favorite pieces of literature and give us the best 33 words you can find.

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.  I offer myself to you again with......
Captain Wentworth, Jane Austen's Persuasion

The Enchantment-Trifecta Writing Challenge

photo credit: Claudio.Ar via photopin cc

 

The fire is fading. Light still flickered around him softening the ancient features of a face recently twisted in anger, the softness, only illusion.

His words still echo, “Ariadne, you will! It is your duty!”  

She answered softly, “I don’t love him.”

“That is of no consequence,” he thundered!

“Yes, Grandfather,” whispering as she retreated into the shadows.

Ariadne did not choose this path; it was a consequence of life, thrust upon her by her birth and sex.

Spearhead

Helar and Grandmother had been walking for many sun risings. Her grandmother was healer and seer for the family, training Helar in the old wisdom. They both were weary. The women and children ahead stopped at the sight of the returning hunters, had Burn the Spearhead found a site for the family?  "We will stop here and build our shelters.” He announced.  Helar was spellbound by the sight of the clearing in the foothills. A river nearby, led to a small lake, in the distance. 

Rain on the Window-Write on Edge

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/

Crack!  Lightening ignites the evening sky.

“1 second, 2 seconds…Wow, that was close,” cries Toni aloud as the thunder rolls.

A second later the power snaps off, leaving her office in the dark. Toni moves from her desk to the window. She watches as rain pours out of the sky, leaving murky rivulets of rainwater on the window.  She sees lights flicker off, all over the low buildings surrounding the nearly empty parking lot.  

Charlotte's Letter

June 30, 1842

Lemmington, England

Dear Brother,

I have delight in telling you of the birth of our son over last fortnight.  I have recovered well from my confinement and Edward is happy in his boy.  Aunt Jane has been with me since I was brought to bed and announced the child looks just as you did as an infant. We have named him John Edward, after yourself and his father. We look forward to your visit in July, little John looks forward to meeting his favorite Uncle.

Aunt Jane will remain here with us in the parsonage, only to return to Newburn at summer’s end.  Edward and I hope we can persuade her to make her home with us as I worry that her cottage may prove too much a burden in her old age. When you visit, you must urge her to remain with us.

While you continue with us this summer, we hope you can become acquainted with our neighbor Mr. Carbury. He is a fine and amiable neighbor and tradesman in our village. He has recently asked Edward if he might have knowledge, of a person, able to assist him in his carting trade.  Edward was happy to be able to give him your name and knowledge of your clerking and accounting proficiency. Edward trusts, you could be useful to Mr. Carbury and this could be very advantageous to your future prospects.

I wish also, you to become acquainted with the Misses Carbury, his younger sister and his daughter of about the same age. They are gentle young ladies of agreeable disposition whose presence enhances the parsonage on many evenings. I have made them aware of your pleasant countenance, and good manners. Your connection Edward and the parsonage can only recommend you to them and the neighborhood.

I have every reason to be thankful for the Providence that brought Edward and our child to me. The distance I am from my closest relations often makes me uneasy and melancholy. My happiness would be complete if you and Aunt Jane would consider removing to our neighborhood. 

I Am Affectionately

Your Sister,

Charlotte

Our prompt this week Inspired by Angela’s return to longhand, and the more personal, less-distracted feelings she derives from putting pen to paper, your prompt is this:A stand-alone scene, fiction or memoir, in 500 words or less, involving a handwritten letter.

I have written  before about Charlotte Here and Here

Hope-Write on Edge

Write on Edge has been all about Hope this week. This is a prequel to another story Epitaph. I need to figure out a title for this story.

Newburn 1824

Charlotte could not remember a time when she and John did not live in Aunt Jane’s small cottage just outside the gates of Newburn Hall, She and John had been orphaned at the ages of 3 and 4 years old, respectively and Aunt Jane was the only parent they knew.  She did her best for them on the small income she received from an inheritance.  They did not have much growing up; however they were well loved by their dear aunt.

She did remembered when John  was seven, he was sent to the parish day school when it first opened.  She also remembered Aunt Jane trying to soothe her when she cried that she was not allowed to go as well.

"It would not be proper for a little girl to attend school with young boys; we will continue your education here at home.” She smiled and continued, “There are many domestic skills that I can teach you, which will enable you to be a good wife and mother one day.”

Six year old Charlotte pouted, She did not want to be a good wife; she wanted to go to school with John, read books, and travel to London and beyond. She knew that she had no hope of going to school with John, but she would read every book in the circulating library, when she was older, and she would find her way to London and beyond one day.  This was not only her hope, but was a promise she made to herself that day.

Aunt Jane took the mending from Charlotte’s hand that morning, and replaced it with one of her beloved drawing pencils and handed her a small slip of paper from her drawing book. “Let us try a hand at drawing,” said Aunt Jane. “Why don’t you start with a circle?”

According to Dante, the gates of hell are inscribed “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” I challenged you to be inspired by such a warning.

La Vie Nocturne- WRITE ON EDGE

Write on Edge is having us look at anti-heros or antagonist. The way they see it (and not everyone will agree), all villains are anti-heroes, but all anti-heroes are not villains. I have continued this story here.

Jessica met him at the Discotheque Vie Nocturne, when she and the roommates went clubbing in Baton Rouge several weeks ago.  Suzanne liked the club's  dark and gothic design. Elaine giggled that it was supposed to be under vampire ownership. Jessica smiled at Elaine's gullibility. 

The dance floor throbbed with music and light, and they danced the night away.
At 12:30 Jessica returned to their table exhausted and thirsty when she noticed him, looking dark and moody, in the booth next to her.  Their eyes met and his steady gaze unnerved her slightly.

He glided over to her table smiling and introduced himself.  “I am Antoine, I own the club.” 

She was speechless; he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Finally she stuttered, “I’m Jessica.”

Antoine was dressed in black. “Just like a proper vampire,” she mused. His deep green eyes burned into hers and she had to look away.

“Yes." May I get you something fresh to drink?” Startled, she nervously looked around for her friends. Was he saying yes, to her unspoken thought?

“I’ll have ice water and a slice of lemon; I’m the designated driver tonight.” She murmured.

He raised his finger to the server and pointed at her with a brief nod.  “I have never seen you here before, you are not a regular?” He had a slight accent that Jessica couldn’t recognize.

“Yes."  "I am from Slovakia” he answered again, without being asked.  
Jessica looked deep into the emerald eyes and shivered.

“I am just good at reading people,” he smiled. The server brought her water and Antoine continued, “Have you and your friends enjoyed yourselves tonight?”

“Yes, the DJ is great and I’m having a good time,” she answered nervously. “I’m not sure where my roommates are, we really should be getting home soon. It’s quite drive back to New Orleans, this time of night.” Why did I say that, she thought?” “Where are the restrooms?” she asked aloud.

“Let me show you.” He lifted her up by her elbow, and he ushered her between the curtains under the exit sign. The air was thick and scented with jasmine. She thought she would swoon.

“That’s OK,” she said as she tried to wrest her arm from him.  He gazed deeply into her eyes and she felt like she was falling toward a cliff edge.

He pointed to the left. “Second door,” he smiled.

Jessica felt foolish, as she washed her hands.  “He’s lovely and I’m worried he is a vampire.”  "Stupid, stupid roommates. . .”  She returned to the table, where Suzanne and Elaine were waiting. Antoine was at another table talking to a beautiful blond and her date.

 “Hey, I saw you talking to Antoine. What’s he like?”  asked Elaine

“Well he is no vampire, but if he was, it might be worth knowing him, he’s charmingly sinister.” said Jessica, “Let’s go.”

Antoine looked over at her and nodded as they left.

"Yes. I am.”  She heard him whisper. She looked back sharply but he was nowhere to be seen. The night air smelled of jasmine.

Write on Edge-Epitaph

Lemmington, England 1840

Charlotte was wandering through the church yard cemetery toward the bench where she often enjoyed sketching the church and parish school where her husband, Edward was vicar.  Edward had mentioned yesterday at tea about an unusual epitaph, so now she zig-zagged through the stones and monuments looking for the grave stone.  She soon found it in the older section of the cemetery, where stones had been up turned, lopsided and weathered.  The dates around it were of the last century.  No name was carved on the stone, only a verse:

Here lies a miser who lived for himself, who cared
for nothing but gathering wealth.

Now where he is and how he fares;
nobody knows and nobody cares

“How wry and pitiable to be known; only as a miserly man. “  She thought aloud. There was a pretty aspect of the parsonage in the distance, so she set about sketching it quickly.  She wanted to get back to the parsonage and show it to Edward, before tea time.

Charlotte and Edward had been married just a short six months. She had met him ten years ago when he first arrived in the village of Newburn as Deacon of the parish.   She was but a child of twelve.  With her parents long dead, she and her brother John resided with their spinster aunt, in a small cottage at the edge of Newburn Hall.   With her tiny income, Aunt Jane was able to teach them to read and enjoy books from the circulating library. She encouraged Charlotte’s drawing and sent John to the Parish Day School for several years.  That was where they made the acquaintance of the young deacon, Edward Stephenson. 

Aunt Jane would often tell them reminiscences of her youth when she and their mother were young ladies of wealth and standing in the neighbourhood, but nothing was said of how they became so impoverished.  However, she was silent on the circumstances of their parent’s marriage and death. One of the stories that neighbours told, was that Aunt Jane and their mother had been at the mercy of a miserly relative who did nothing to put them forward in society, leaving them nothing but the cottage and a tiny inheritance. 

As the years passed, her brother eventually went to work clerking for the Newburn Railway. This supplemented the small income of their aunt and by living carefully, they enjoyed a satisfactory life with a small circle of friends. With no dowry, she had little expectations of making a good marriage.  So everyone was surprised when, after receiving a church living of his own, Edward proposed.

Charlotte now securely ensconced in the parsonage of Holy Saviour Church, Lemmington, seemed unconcerned by the circumstances of her former life.  She opened her book to look again at the sketch before showing Edward her drawing. She observed the gravestone in the forground, thinking it ruined the sketch of her lovely home and began to fill it in with flowers and grasses. 'That is much better," she thought.

For this week, write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece in which an epitaph features prominently. I found mine at The Epitaph Browser.  It is from Lemmington, England. found under Anonymous. I found a Lemington in Northumbria near Newcastle and an appropriate parish in which I set my story.

 

His Office Party

Ok, in 3, 2, 1.”   “ Oh hell, wait, wait!” 

“Ok I’m waiting,"said Suzanne. “Again" she added under her breath.  Checking her watch, “We’ll be late!”

His employees gifts were packed in a Santa sack found at Big Lots, where she also found the matching sweaters, he insisted upon. “It’s an Ugly Christmas Sweater party,” he explained “There will be prizes."

“How Bridget Jones,” she thought. “Forget the dress at Macys!” Last year she underdressed, thanks to Jack. This year she wanted to get it right.

The door opened and he stepped out. “How do I look?" He was wearing a gray cashmere sweater and a Santa hat. 

“What’s that?  You’re not wearing the sweater, the ugly one?” she snapped.

Passages-Red Writing Hood

This week we were asked to take you somewhere. Where, was up to us -fiction or creative nonfiction- but we were asked  to use our words to paint the setting as vividly as possible, in 200 words. I love the opportunity to work on fiction.

She opens her eyes, and a blinding white light causes her to flinch. The light seems to intensify and she blinks again.  What appears to be a bright light is the metallic incandescence of the walls that surround her. It is a small enclosure that seems not to have a door or windows, yet she smells a crisp whiff of ozone. perfuming the air. She raises her head and sees that she is lying on a cold metal bench in the middle of the room.  Not restrained, she sits up looking and listening for clues to where she is. Planting her feet on the floor, she could feel a humming vibration coming from outside the room. She crosses the room to the luminous wall and puts her hand out to touch it and is knocked to the floor from a charge running through her body. The walls begin to shimmer. then disappear. The crisp air she breathed in the chamber is replaced by a damp foul odor. Dark passages lead off in three directions and from the middle passage she hears heavy footsteps moving in her direction. Perspiring she wonders aloud, "What is this madness?"

Misty Morning-Red Writing Hood

I am trying something a little different this week...Fiction!

Write on Edge/Red Writing Hood's prompt this week is to be inspired by pictures. Of the two, I chose this one and my attempt is below. Feel free to critique.

Jessica had been sitting on the cold iron bench for hours.  The thick fog had turned to a mist as the darkness merged into gray. She had remained unseen by the voices and lights that had passed her in the early hours of the morning. The noises had startled her but she remained steadfast on the bench, waiting. She would not be afraid.  She was not sure what she would have said or done if those voices or lights had found her in the dark.  However, now as the mist lifted she knew that anyone walking by would think she was just waiting for the doors of the church to open for the first mass.

As the early light of day revealed the corners of the square, she wondered how she had been able to sit here waiting, alone. She had counted as the bells in the tower had chimed out the time on each hour and half hour. He was suppose to meet her at one o'clock and she had arrived as the clock was tolling the half hour before. She could make out the numbers on the clock face now and it was almost five am. He was not coming! She would have to leave soon if she wanted to slip back into the house, unseen by the prying eyes of her disapproving roommates. Maybe they were right.

She was profoundly disappointed that he had not come. She had been excited by their relationship, he was older and seemed glamorous, romantic and slightly dangerous. She was going to go away with him if he asked her. All night long she thought she saw him out of the corner of her eye but it was always a shadow. She had worried several times during her vigil that something might have happened to him on his way to meet her.  Perhaps he had met with an accident, maybe he was delayed by traffic from Baton Rouge. Traffic at this time of the morning, nonsense! But an accident, she thought, or a mugging, was that possible?  She had her cell phone with her and she had called his number but it rang through to voice mail.  Where was he? He would never do this to her, something terrible had happened! He wasn't coming. Oh why was she still here waiting for him? Now she was angry!

Jessica was cold and wet as she arose from the bench and looked around the square. The lights were flickering off. There was a dog across the square turning the corner of the building sniffing, searching for some scrap of something left behind by the patrons of the cafe next door. She flinched at the sound of two pigeons arguing about the contents of a plastic bag that was left behind by a careless tourist. She heard the far away sound of trash cans being emptied.  The square was coming alive but she was dying a little inside, he had not come for her. She used her silk scarf to wipe away her tears, touching her throat with her fingers, she whispered,

"Damn Vampires!"