I just realized tonight that I've never posted any of my actual writing here beyond my unapproachable poetry, so I thought it was time to change that. And this piece is perfect for that, for a number of reasons.
Also, this is a narrative re-telling of the story in the RPG that I'm designing. Unfortunately, I never really got going with it, so I only have three scenes written. But, I'm rather happy with how they came out, and who knows? maybe I'll write more someday.
Edit: Oh, and there are places where certain words should be italicized that I can't be bothered to hunt down and code, so if something sounds weird at first glance, do consider that.
Also, I'm posting these by scene, so some of them run a bit long, thus I have spoiled the entries.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Nearly a year, and to watch the sun cresting the horizon, lighting the ocean's stretch aflame, still filled Amilia with awe verging on rapture. Here, if nowhere else in all the world, could be found the glory of the Seven, unveiled in purest holy fire. If a heaven awaited her, it would be a realm of tranquil seas and cloudless skies; a paradise of soothing winds, its waters vast enough to fill eternity.
It would not last, this fleeting, perfect morn. Such things could not last. No longer distant, its clouded banks alight with sinister allure, the Isle of Dreamers awaited them, as it had waited for centuries. Were they the first? The annals spoke of no others to ever make such a voyage; only in their murkiest depths, where history and myth were often one, was any mention of the Isle to be found. And yet... such was their need, Avalusia's need, that even a phantom of hope could bring comfort to unsettled hearts.
Her faith was unbroken. It could not be otherwise. Xavier bound them to this: in love, in duty, in the distant, quiet calm of his regard. He was salvation, his very breath the wind of deliverance.
She could hear him climbing up from the deck below, coming to stand beside her at the bow. His arms fell across the rail as he leaned over, searching the mists ahead.
“So soon now, sister.” The words undulated from him. “An end to our strife. Our kingdom shall discover the strength to rise from the abyss of squalor. Led by an undying god, the soldiers of Avalusia shall know eternal victory.”
Amilia closed her eyes, letting the spell of his conviction wash over her. She could feel his smile, warm with sincerity, and could well imagine the lordly cast of his gaze as he looked out upon the sea.
“Our people shall find happiness in the peace that I will create.”
The air seemed crisper in her lungs, the sun more radiant, now that he stood beside her. Letting it go in a weightless sigh, she looked up at her brother.
“What of the other realms?” she asked. “Will your light fall on them, as well?”
He turned and clasped her hands in his. “All nations shall bear witness to my apotheosis,” he said, looking past her in that otherworldly way that so captivated her, “and be given the chance to embrace to the wonders of Avalusia. Those who do, shall be annexed and made provinces of glory born beneath my divine reign. And those who do not, those who reject salvation... must face judgment.”
His head fell, and she could feel a sudden iron within him, the terrible drive and purpose that held up his burden. He sounded almost pained now, assailed by the inadequacies of the world.
“I will not tolerate any power to threaten Avalusia ever again. Enemies who dare imperil my beloved people shall suffer retribution.”
She stared up at him, but could find nothing to hold, no humanity to call back from that appalling brink. Not that she would. She understood the sacrifice Xavier had made, and would not question it. It had been made out of love, and that was enough.
Withdrawing from him, she looked away. “You shall be our vindication, brother.” She could barley manage more than a whisper, so chilling was the thought. “In fire, you shall carry our salvation. But still, I must weep for those who will feel the scourge of its flame. They are wrong to oppose you, and yet...”
“How naïve,” replied a new voice, coming from behind her. There was no scorn in those words, so softly spoken. They were more of a lament. Turning, she saw lord Ziethal Farashnir take his place at Xavier's side.
“True harmony cannot be achieved without bloodshed.” His one eye was closed; what he sought could not be found in the sea. Somewhere, a gull cried, its call drifting unanswered over the waves.
“Only by eradicating those who enslave us, those who propagate sin in our holy kingdom, may Avalusia finally enter a golden era of prosperity. Our oppressors shall be obliterated from the earth by the divine miracles of our god, Xavier.”
Such words should have inspired terror in her, disgust at the excess they promised. But they came from a man without bloodlust, a saint of battle who would come and plant lotus-ferns over those he had slain. Like her brother, Ziethal sought only peace, though it should be found at the end of his sword. If the world could but lay down its arms.
“Wisdom, dear sister,” Xavier told her, “must be my foremost measure. I shall act in wrath only to defend the Kingdom of Miracles, Avalusia.”
His gaze fell upon her then, and she found herself lost in his majesty, the way the sun framed him against the shrill blue backdrop, its light resplendent in his eyes.
“Our people cry daily for an end to their trials,” he said. “I shall be their messiah, clad in silver armor and laurelled in white roses. They shall cherish my protection, and worship my beneficence, as is just. Are these not righteous goals?”
Amilia could not abide the zeal there, the intensity he affixed her with. He surpassed her, as he surpassed them all. How long ago had he left meager humanity behind, to embark upon the cold path to ascendancy? He had been a child once, though she had not been around to see it. But he had been reared by Lore-masters, fathered by generals and kings. And where so many of noble blood failed, succumbed to the indolence of privilege, Xavier had triumphed. Emerging to manhood, armed with a host of virtues, he became not a lord of Avalusia, but her servant. Even now, on the eve of his exaltation, he remained true, his only desire to wield the sword of peace. As a god, he would give everything of himself to Avalusia, as he had given his entire life.
“Yes,” she said after a moment. She had not the words to answer more than that.
Ziethal stirred beside her. “For too long has Avalusia been made the puppet and play-thing of false emperors,” he said. “Beneath the guidance of our lord, we shall finally achieve the liberties that have been so long denied us.”
They were drawing near now. Soon, the fogs would part, and they would set upon the precipice. In this, as it had ever been, they would live or die with Xavier. She and Ziethal were here only to stand at his side, to bear witness. And to be the first to kneel.
There was something captivating about the Isle, the effect more pronounced in every moment they drifted closer. Amilia found she could not look away, and would not, regardless. She had come to this, had believed in Xavier, and that belief had not failed.
“My lord, Ziethal,” she called, her voice frail against the rising wind. “What need has the Kingdom of Miracles for a sword-master?”
“Mayhap,” came his wistful answer, “I shall hang these ancestral blades in the hallows, and never have call to draw them again.” As they had never been hung to before.
To think of a world without war, the world that Xavier would create, was to be overwhelmed by hope. But the depth of what they must all surrender to enter such a world suddenly struck her. She was a Hierophant, such as had not been born since the time of the Ancients; the Seven spoke in her dreams and gave answer to her every prayer. But with a living god upon the throne of Avalusia, what need would there be for priests and clerics? What need for counsel and faith, when the sun would never again set?
Ziethal was speaking once more. “If there is need, I shall be a sword to lord Xavier, that his hands may remain unstained. Never has Avalusia held to gods of war, and nor shall we now. If that demon must be roused, let the guilt fall on me alone.”
There was laughter then, soft and forbearing. “Be at ease, my friends,” Xavier said, the words like nectar to her heart. “Soon, all fear shall be vanquished. Behold!”
He threw his arms forward, palms turned to the heavens, and the mists rolled back from the shore. Lightnings flickered to either side, seeming to dance in welcome, their iridescence playing off the clear waters between.
“We have found it!” he cried. “The Isle of Dreamers awakens. Destiny call us home.”
And thus they were come to it, here to prevail or to plummet. Xavier carried the weight of a kingdom, but did they not in turn carry him? If the legends spoke true, if all they desired should come to pass, would he ever again know friendship? Who would remember the man, her brother? The truth of her vanity struck home now, worrying over sacrifice and surrender when it was he who stood to lose the most. Come victory or loss, Xavier had given his very life to a dream.
Filled with hope, Amilia would watch him die, and she would smile with him, in that last human moment, not for joy at what was to come, but for the love of what had been.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
The turgid silence of the Isle held them fast, disturbed only by their footfalls through the foliage. They had left the shore behind hours ago, the trees drawing in to swallow them. Fog still hung in the canopy.
How long, since any had walked beneath these boughs? Set foot in this forgotten world? The Isle waited, timeless in abidance, but what of its Dreamer? Xavier had told her little of what he sought here, of the secrets he had descried from the Lost Lore, what the Ancients had named the Lexicon of the Stars.
He led them on, and they followed, trusting in his wisdom, in the grace that kept his steps from disturbing the sand. This jungle was no challenge to him; the road he walked was preordained. Salvation lay just ahead, awaiting only his hand to claim it.
As the path cleared before them, the trees receding to open on what must have been the Isle's heart, the vision suddenly broke, receding like a wave. Amilia faltered, letting out a soft gasp at the sight that greeted her. The Isle, its flora, the very earth, were gone. Only a star-filled void remained, stretching in all directions, enough to swallow all the world, all her fears and hopes, her love and life, until nothing was left but the gleaming.
They stood upon a bridge, stretching over the vast well of night, and through it, Amilia could see the distant, shifting lights like fires on a dark horizon. The edge was close, perilous, but the sight was so beautiful that she didn't care. She could not help kneeling down to touch the gray glass, marveling at swirling patterns as she ran her fingers over its cold, sheening surface.
“By the Mothers' blood...” she heard Ziethal breathe beside her.
“Amazing,” Amilia caught herself murmur. Looking up, she saw that Xavier had continued on ahead of them, making his way further into the serene black, his gaze affixed ahead. Drawing up a ways beyond, he spread his arms and called back to them.
“Behold, the Temple of the Akasha! The last, hallowed refuge of the Ancients.”
And it was there, revealed with his words, its crystal edifice rising from the very floor of the abyss. Spires like the countless facets of some other-worldly gem reared into the ether. It could have served as the very keystone of Heaven.
Coming up behind him, Amilia leaned against her brother, a sudden weakness stealing through her at the sight.
“Such was the splendor of old,” she heard him whisper. “Such is the power of gods.” He felt warm, indomitable with quiet strength This was not discovery; no miraculous happening for which to offer thanks to providence. This was an inheritance. Xavier belonged to this.
“Come,” he said, taking her by the hand. “The Dreamers await.”
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
The hall could have held an entire world and still seemed empty. All about them, sculptures in marble and porcelain shone with tantalizing light, twinkling like candles in the vast chamber. They walked on tiles of some unearthly stone, their surface shifting with color, reflecting a thousand hues as the glow from the statues waxed and waned.
Their footfalls made no echo. Amilia could not even hear the few breaths she allowed herself to take. She had thought the sighing of the seas the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, but this, this was beyond compare. A paradise of silence that simply would not suffer to be disturbed.
To think that men fought wars, shed blood and razed cities for a hundred fruitless causes, when there existed such a place as this. That the world she knew could house such sanctity filled Amilia with a near rapturous hope. Here was all the answer she would ever need, the saving knowledge that there was a tangible truth higher than suffering – not the wispy promises of deliverance to be found amid the Lore, but here, in consecrated stone, immutable and undeniable. The strife of her people seemed a distant, paltry thing now, an afterthought to the miracle at hand.
Still Xavier led them forward, each step surer than the previous. His flesh collected the luminance and held it fast, incandescence making a shrine of his flesh. He walked now on the path of apotheosis, and if ever there had been doubt in Amilia's heart, there was no more. Wonder remained, though, and awe, deepening with each passing moment. She could only close her eyes and revel in it. A transcendent bliss overtook her, giving their slow procession the substance of a waking dream.
Had he not reached out, clasping her arm in his gentle, irrefusable way, Amilia would have kept on, heedless that her brother had stopped. At first, she saw no reason for it; the cavernous space stretched on in all directions without end, but after a moment, the silhouette of an approaching figure appeared from deep within the recesses of the hall.
Xavier took a step forward, positioning himself in front of her. Ziethal came up at her side, looking nothing so much as humbled. He had never been a religious man. Amilia could scarcely imagine how this must be affecting him.
“What comes?” she heard him ask of Xavier. The sound of his voice seemed drowned, almost made a part of the perfect stillness in the air.
She could feel her brother smile. “You did not think the Dreamer would be without his guardians, did you?” He sounded different, empowered. A deep, tonal harmony flowed beneath each word.
“You know what we shall face?” she asked, feeling the fugue begin to lift from her thoughts.
Xavier nodded. “The Black Templar. An automaton set by the Ancients to guard the true entrance to the Dreamers' sanctuary.”
Amilia saw Ziethal's hand drift to the hilt of one of his swords. She laid her palm against his arm. “Peace,” she told him. “Trust in your lord.”
“Yes.” Xavier started forward once more as the Templar drew nearer. “You must both trust in me.”
She could see the guardian now, advancing with heavy, ponderous steps. It towered above Xavier; would have towered above any man, animate in night-dark armor, its face hidden behind a featureless helm. It cradled a long, black-bladed axe in its arms.
Breathless, she watched it come to a halt before Xavier, setting the haft of its weapon to the ground. When it spoke, the floor beneath her seemed to quake, as though its lifeless voice came thundering from deep below.
“None may enter here.” Amilia felt her heart falter at the words, so certain; so damning. “The Seal of the Durance must not be broken. Begone.”
A moment passed in which Xavier said nothing, standing motionless, studying the Templar. If they waged some private war of wills, Amilia could sense nothing of it.
As time settled past, she noticed the lights grow dim, casting the statuary into what now seemed ominous shadows. Sudden unease filled her, dread at this black, looming specter and its implacable stance. It made no overt threat, but she could not deny an almost primal terror seeping into her as she gazed into it eyeless visage.
“No.” Xavier's answer shuddered with power. “I have come to fulfill the legacy of the Ancients. Lay down your arms, Templar, and permit my passage.”
The darkness deepened, and somehow, without movement, the Templar held its axe in ready hands. “The gate must not be opened. No wayward feet shall profane this holy ground. Begone.” The hall trembled, seeming to draw close about them. She was all but blind, now.
“I will not suffer to be impeded,” Xavier proclaimed, taking a step forward. “Stand aside, guardian.”
The same pitiless voice came once more, far closer, resonating in Amilia's ears. “You seek to thwart the designs of entities whose genesis far surpasses your meager comprehension of time. Turn aside, or meet judgment.”
Silence stretched on, in which Amilia began to feel abandoned in the stifling gloom. She reached out, but could not find Ziethal beside her. She was too terrified to speak.
Then the black burst asunder, shattered by radiance as a sword of fiery power awoke in Xavier's grasp. She could see him now, standing undaunted, but the gloaming hall did not return. Whatever spell the Templar had evoked remained, consuming all else. It stood once more revealed in the Lore-light her brother had conjured, but it seemed a hollow thing, barely raising a glint from its shadowy armor.
“This is your answer?” It sounded from everywhere now, the moaning words echoing and reechoing through the lightless world. “So be it. You have sown a ruinous harvest this day.”
With effortless might, the axe fell, crashing into Xavier's guard and driving him back beneath the weight of the blow. Ziethal was at her brother's side in an instant, both swords drawn and spinning in a frenzy, ringing against black iron again and again. To no avail. Amilia doubted whether there was anything beneath the armor to wound.
“Dear sister,” Xavier called to her, sounding not at all distressed as he shoved the Templar's weapon aside. “Look to me. Forget your fear. You are not helpless.”
For a moment, Amilia thought she saw him turn and smile, filling her with the warmth of his love. But, no, he was pressing back now, his blazing weapon driving at the Templar. Fire shone in his eyes. It was enough.
The spell was broken. Words came rushing to the forefront of her mind now, a sonnet of pure power that even the soulless knight would not be able to resist. From the heartstone of her faith, her boundless devotion to the Seven Gods, Amilia found her voice. She began to sing the Septagrammaton.
The Templar's command of his domain was absolute. As they fought, it shifted in and out of the shadowy ether, fading to nothing just as Xavier's blade would find it mark. Its heavy strikes came without warning, the axe appearing in a flickering haze and hammering down, shrieking with power. Shoving Xavier aside, Ziethal took a blow to his back that sent him sprawling. Smoke rose from the wound, and despite his greatest effort, he could not stand.
Amilia could feel the might building within her, the rising cadence of her Cant. She was floating now, held aloft on white-glowing winds, light pouring from her eyes and mouth. As her thunderous invocation came to its climax, the Templar reeled, overwhelmed by the sight of her unveiled. Her brilliance left it naked, stripped of the sorcery that armored its ancient spirit. As Xavier's strokes fell, they now rent its sable gown, filling the wounds with liquid flame.
All about them, the darkness began to relent, returning to lambency in the yawning hall before Amilia's light surged out, blinding, spreading like the mantle of the sun. The Templar said nothing, made no cry as its armor began to dissolve. Its pain, however, was palpable. Had she not been enthralled by the ecstasy of her Cant, Amilia would have wept. That armor was far from empty. Beneath its seamless surface was a living soul, a mind that had looked out upon ages of the world and known centuries of unyielding duty, ever-faithful. And now it was dying.
She seared it. With the fire of the same Gods the guardian had no doubt served for all its life, she burnt away the force that held it animate. There was no relenting, no mercy. This was justice; cold, holy justice against which no earthly force could stand. The Hierophant spoke and the Seven gave answer. With a final, resounding word, she completed the Cant. The utterance blasted the Templar apart, scattering the dissolving fragments of its armor into the vastness of the chamber.
The silence that followed was appalling, lasting only for an instant, but it stretched like an abyss through the sacred hall, at once taking in and spreading the wrongness of what Amilia had just done.
With a sigh, she fluttered to the ground, returning to herself and collapsing in a heap. She lay there shivering, numbed by her channeling, until she felt her brother's hand across her forehead, caressing, pushing her hair aside with tender concern. He was smiling now, truly, and speaking soothing words. Amilia felt a serene coolness envelop her, and she slept.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Commenting before I forget. :). I read through the first part. Has it changed at all since last time? Only a couple comments to make so far, mostly having to do with word choice or syntax. "Phantom of hope" comes off to my ear as a bit funny. Not entirely sure why. I get the sentiment, but somehow the word "phantom" doesn't feel right to me. The word "imperil" also comes off to me as unneccessary and clunky but that falls into personal taste. It strikes me as an attempt to sound lofty which is redundant since Xavier's speech already accomplishes that pretty well.
Two sentence fragments show up at the end of a couple paragraphs that I think could also be changed to fit more in with the writing. The first is the line "If the world could but lay down its arms." That can be taken two ways, as either a statement or a question depending on context so it doesn't work well for me in a fragmented form. I think it would work better attached via comma to the preceeding sentence. That way there's no ambiguity behind the statement.
"As they had never been hung to before" also feels to me like it's floating to no real effect in the narrative, and that it would work better adding onto the previous sentence rather than as a fragment by itself. It feels homeless as it is so far.
One grammatical kink:"Destiny call us home" needs either a comma after "Destiny" or an 's' after "call."
Okay, that's it for now. It's smoother than I recall reading before. I don't I read past that part so the rest will be new.
Cheers. :)
EDIT: Riiight, one more thing...you know those ellipses early on? Yeaaaaah...
Commenting before I forget. :). I read through the first part. Has it changed at all since last time?
Not significantly, no.
Quote:
Only a couple comments to make so far, mostly having to do with word choice or syntax. "Phantom of hope" comes off to my ear as a bit funny. Not entirely sure why. I get the sentiment, but somehow the word "phantom" doesn't feel right to me.
Maybe you could explain more. I'm not really sure what the problem would be, it seems a pretty straight-forward metaphor to me. Now I'm feeling dense for not seeing what's wrong with it.
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The word "imperil" also comes off to me as unneccessary and clunky but that falls into personal taste. It strikes me as an attempt to sound lofty which is redundant since Xavier's speech already accomplishes that pretty well.
Again, not quite seeing what you mean. I mean, it feels to me like something that makes perfect sense for him to say. You're suggesting replacing it with something like "threaten"? That would, to me, be out of character for him, as he's been cultivating this austere persona for years (to the point where's actually convinced himself that he's more than human) and everyone around him buys into it and no one ever steps up to tell him he's a self-centered, delusional idiot.
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Two sentence fragments show up at the end of a couple paragraphs that I think could also be changed to fit more in with the writing. The first is the line "If the world could but lay down its arms." That can be taken two ways, as either a statement or a question depending on context so it doesn't work well for me in a fragmented form.
Um... help me here. I don't see what other context this could be taken in. I'm seriously feeling dense, the stuff you're pointing out just isn't even registering on my self-critiquing radar, which is normally hyperactive.
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I think it would work better attached via comma to the preceeding sentence. That way there's no ambiguity behind the statement.
Again, I'm not sure what ambiguity it presents as it is. Plus, the intention was to separate the thought in her narration slightly, i.e. it isn't one continuous thought to her.
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"As they had never been hung to before" also feels to me like it's floating to no real effect in the narrative, and that it would work better adding onto the previous sentence rather than as a fragment by itself. It feels homeless as it is so far.
I guess I can see what you mean about this one, but you have to keep in mind how deeply from Amilia's perspective this is being narrated. That line is her reaction to what he's saying. The only thing I can think of to do it differently is add a short reference to her looking at his swords, followed by that thought in italics.
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One grammatical kink:"Destiny call us home" needs either a comma after "Destiny" or an 's' after "call."
That isn't a kink, it's a mistake. :p
Thank you for spotting that.
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Okay, that's it for now. It's smoother than I recall reading before. I don't I read past that part so the rest will be new.
I don't think I changed much besides editing a word here or there. I'm curious to see what you think of the rest.
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Cheers. :)
You too. Thanks for the comments. Hope I don't sound belligerent up there. I'm always up for some fun self-flagellation, but I'm just having a hard time understanding where you're coming from.
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EDIT: Riiight, one more thing...you know those ellipses early on? Yeaaaaah...
You shut up about those!
:p
Seriously, though, that's likely a holdover from the game, where I have only dialogue and visuals to work with, I can't convey the nuances of a conversation, so... cue ellipses every time someone trails off or pauses.
Edit: Oh, and I find it slightly ironic that the sort of things I said I was glossing over as being too nitpicky when reviewing yours are all you commented on about mine. :p Stop picking my nits, you pedant!
:D
(Also, just looked up the meaning of that word. Eew. I hate English sometimes.)
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Heh. Well let's see. "Phantom" and "imperil" are more matters of personal taste. "Phantom" in particular is hard to explain without going into the nuances of implications and such, but I suppose I could describe as the amount of "presence" the word has. "Phantom" to me feels more like an actual being that the masses would be reacting too, rathern than the mere impression or hint of one, which I think words like "ghost" or "shadow," "scent" etc would better fit. Personal impressions. Don't fuss too much though. Being a lit student I'm naturally hypersensitive to these things. ;).
"Imperil" is more straight forward. It just sounds more obviously pompus to me, something that could work easily enough with just "peril" and a connecting word to go with it. Again, personal taste. Feel free to ignore me.
On the fragments, I'm looking at them from the view of them being complete thoughts. "As they had never been hung before" strikes me as either a beginning or an ending to a thought, and that's what the trouble is. (Going language pick here) The sentence reads to be as possibley being the beginning of a thought with the word "as" being in front. 'As they had never been hung before, blah blah blah.' The same goes for the ending word 'Before' which in my view doesn't really have much of an air of finality to it, so it's sort of a soft ending, if that make sense. It feels ambiguous to me because of how it doesn't seem to be much of a thought to itself. If feels like it should be connected to something else and while it does work, I think, it was still something that didn't feel totally natural and I has to pause a moment after reading it to make sure it wasn't an error or there wasn't supposed to be something after it.
"If the world could but lay down it's arms" has the same issue. No real finality to the thought in my opinion. It could be the predecessor to another though as easily as it could be an ending, and probably easier in my opinoin. Think maybe of Boromir's phrase in the end of Fellowhip (movie), "If you would but lend me the ring." (I would use ellipses here because the thought feels unfinished, especially with his expression in the film ;)). That's what he says but if feels like there's more that has been left unsaid. The same goes for the fragment. "If the world could but lay down its arms..." [unsaid statement there].
Does that make some sense? The fragments and words here I mentioned because they made me pause during the reading or stuck out. Prose potholes, so to speak.
:).
How did you get green smiley man?
EDIT nevermind :D
I see what you mean about phantom, though I'm not sure if anyone who doesn't have a lit degree would notice that. :p I'll think about changing it.
And I think we must have a difference of perspective or something on imperil. It just... doesn't come off that way to me, and I don't really think of the word in general as being a hallmark of pomposity. And, I mean, I can actually *hear* him saying that line in my head and it just sounds right to me. (Xavier is totally voiced by Crispin Freeman in my head. :p)
And I do understand what you mean about the fragments, I'm going to attribute it mostly to my writing style. Like, despite the third-person narration, this whole thing is sort of written from Amilia's immediate perspective and, to me, those just don't present a snag in the narrative since it's a direct continuation of the thought she was having right beforehand, related as it is through the third-person perspective.
...that probably doesn't make any sense. :|
Oh, and "If the world could but lay down its arms" is a closing thought, if it was a trailed-off opening, I would have ended it with an ellipses. :p
But... if they're sticking out that much, they're probably a problem, despite my lack-of-seeing-a-problem with them, so I should probably change them.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Yeah, like I mentioned on MSN, it comes down to me knowing how I want it to be read, so it's hard to wrap my head around how it might sound to anyone who doesn't.
I could use a second opinion, though. Any takers? :p
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Well it's late and I read them kind of fast, nor am I really any kind of lit expert at all, but tomorrow I'll go over it more carefully and see if anything jumps out at me.
I wanted to be more careful while reading again to nitpick, but your writing flows very well in my eyes and I think I'm probably not going to find anything to nitpick :p Quiet had probably covered everything I might have mentioned so I think I will just leave it be for now :3
I am merely rediculously literal. Speaking of which...
The phase "laurelled in white roses" made my head tilt a bit, given that 'laurels' already comes from a plant name. It feels almost like the metaphor is reversing itself. Accolades in the form of a laurel wreath (or olive or ivy, as the case my be); becomes "laurels" the metaphor for accolades in genera; becomes an accepted term for accolades; is now being associated with a new plant.
Yes, the etymology is not lost on me, I assure you. That I can think of, there isn't another word that would fit, though, except maybe "garlanded" which I think sounds awkward.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Trisphee
Posted 06-12-201110:20 PM
