And sometimes you forget
the sun will shine
the seasons will change
sad times won’t last
you will always have my hand to hold
“People don’t think as you do.”
“I know no other way.”
“Then carry a shield,” she said. “Soft hearts bruise.”
Our stars crossed long before we met. From faraway I’d heard her heart beating, felt her skin on mine. Anna Bellerose. Every breeze and twig snap had me turn.
“Two souls tangled in time,” the townsfolk said. Others murmured, “Damned” and spit upon the ground.
A single thread entwined our destiny. Controlled on a loom, the silk was measured and cut by the three Fates: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.
Goddesses. At night, they stood in the heart of the forest, long robes lit by moonlight. Hands held, they circled and sang. Silvery notes chorused heavenward. Even the stars winked back.
In one moment, three women had proclaimed eternal law, a steel trust that sealed our submission. The stories of two lives were to play out without obstruction. Their magic art would drag me across territories, to leave me standing on a snow covered doorstep.
“Old souls,” the keeper said, as he led me to a darkened room.
Anna stood beneath a broken chandelier, trapped in the shadow of a single memory. Her face, a moon in a well to wish upon, her crooked crown, from a fairytale. On a table lay an open book.
I knew the tale. Spoken words locked in time had already pinned me to the page.
She turned to me.
I met her with a smile.
She is drowning in a tsunami of emotion.
His presence reminds her of something quiet and treacherous: the first snow fall. A system enters unannounced. The world softens. For a moment, everything seems extraordinary.
Hidden undercover is plain truth. Perhaps he isn’t what she imagines him to be. Behind his faraway eyes, she hears the whispers of hard scrabble stories not meant for her ears. The voices go low, suggest regret. His pull is magnetic; his push, cold.
Together, they are on a collision course.
She had shared a mention of his troubles with her mother. He’d assured her that change was in the works. The upkeep of two homes was a nightmare.
“Of course, he’d say that,” her mother said, “To you.”
The words bit.
- opening a chapter- draft (Pronouns used in place of ‘names’ for post.)
- Narrator’s POV, character’s POV
“I pity you. Your heart has turned to stone. Stone hearts must be guarded, polished, and held forever. Breathe. Exhale the battles, regrets, the unyielding memories. Trust again.”