Imara, Bue, Teorin, Jere, and Calista?
If they ever DID break apart it’s because they realize they’re all power refracted through different lenses—and sometimes wavelengths just don’t align 💔🥀
#ComJunity #Threadwalker (f/k/a #TheDarkestCrown) #QueerFantasyWIP #WriteSky #WritingCommunity
Toying with the idea of retitling my WIP…
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Imara always loved her rather "pointed" conversations with Teorin.
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“Since when did you have street smarts?” Imara asked. “Since I was a street orphan,” Teorin shot back, clearly insulted by the question. “You don’t necessarily get book smarts with that walk of life.” “I apologize,” Imara said as they quickly moved back towards the outskirts of the Gape. “I guess you just don’t have that look.” Teorin had a delicateness to him that contrasted the solid strength that coursed through Bue—and even more so with the gruffness that permeated anyone who had the misfortune of living in Blood’s Landing. His curly blond hair and pale skin, painted in certain areas with light freckles, almost made him look soft. “That’s the whole point,” he told her. “People don’t expect me to know anything until it’s too late for them.” “Have you ever killed someone?” Imara asked. “Too many to count,” he responded. Imara’s breath hitched. “Really?” she asked. However, she thought, what makes me so different? “Some in defense, some in greed,” he said. “All necessary, though.” All necessary, she repeated in her head. “And my kills aren’t?”
Teorin looked soft. Imara had killed for less.
Today's #WIPSnips was supposed to be about "point"
...Turns out that point was rather sharp.
#TheDarkestCrown #QueerFantasyWIP #FantasyDialogue #WriteSky #KillcountConfessional
That feeling when you witness swathes of a city be harvested for soul magic 💀
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#WIPSnips for #TheDarkestCrown Calista has been one of the most fulfilling, dynamic characters I’ve ever crafted.
This scene shows her at her sharpest—and her boldest. Enjoy her bite.
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"What has gotten into you?" her father asked as she sat on her bed. "To go to the city? When a prowling murderer is hunting our kind? With him?" The barrage of questions slammed into her like repeated waves, Calista's chest tightening with each strike, filling her with both dread and panic. She glared at his shined leather loafers so hard she thought the buckles might melt. "Where is he? Did you kill him?" she spat at his feet. If Jere were dead, it would just be a long list of corpses who had dared to oppose the king. Calista was beginning to realize he had left them on both sides of the wall without much thought. "I didn't kill him," he said, putting a sinister emphasis on the first word of the sentence. "I can't say that aligns with my mission statement." "Does anything?" she spat back. "The court is falling apart, bodies line the streets, and you're worried about him." Her father's right eye twitched as if it were possessed—a spasm of fury before returning to its glacial shell. "And what do you expect to do about it?" he asked, the corner of his mouth bending upwards. Sweat was beginning to pool on the back of her neck as anger snarled in her. It was just like him to prod her like this. "Perhaps you shouldn't wait around to find out," she said, glaring into his eyes. "Games are being played far beneath your feet." Another eye twitch.
When a soulstealer is unraveling her kingdom from the inside out and her father still cares more about appearances, Calista stops playing nice. #WIPSnips for #TheDarkestCrown
Imara never bleeds alone.
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IMARA'S HAND GRASPED HER ATTACKER'S FOREARM as it descended upon her. The only bounty you are collecting is in Hell, she thought. Imara's boot swung up and promptly connected with Sava's abdomen. Imara flared her sirethread, flinging Sava into the wall and herself back into the door-which someone was now furiously beating on. The dark haired assassin came down upon Imara again as the Gora yielded her own daggers. Imara counteracted the weight of Sava's assault with another internal push and swung her dagger. Missing, just barely, she came down again, landing a gouge Sava on the arm. In the split second of pain, Imara managed to stick another one in her side. She reached for the woman's soul-stem but was met with a sheet of shimmering black metal—a soul- shield. Imara felt blood trickling out of her nose as she glared into her eyes: how could you do this? Sava's eyes responded: How could I not? Imara flung her head into her opponents face, sending her backwards onto the ground. The former ally was barely conscious as Imara cut the straps on her soul-shield. "Why did you make me do this?" Imara asked, recovering. She only received a groan in response. The Gora pushed against her limp weight, peeling the dark, metal plating that covered her torso. Sava's chest flowed with vitality as Imara punched her hand and quickly extracted the orb of swirling red energy. Turning it over in her head, she couldn't help but feel like she might be morphing into some kind of cursed PROPHET.
My #WIPSnips from my #fantasy novel #TheDarkestCrown
Sick bastard! #TheDarkestCrown #WIPSnips #WriteSky #Fantasy #SFF #amquerying
Bue is going through it… #TheDarkestCrown #amquerying #blueskywriters #WIPSnips #WriteSky #fantasywriter
