tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post8193427563373964002..comments2023-12-06T00:48:23.734-08:00Comments on Daily Writing Practice: Thursday February 18th, 2016Marchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-11169981902954692882016-02-26T09:53:37.135-08:002016-02-26T09:53:37.135-08:00Greg - hah, yes, that would have been quite someth...Greg - hah, yes, that would have been quite something. Particularly because apparently she hadn't seen him since he was an infant.<br /><br />Yeah, I was clear from the start that there would be trouble in the middle. I don't think I fully settled on how the ending would go until I started writing it.<br /><br />So many fantastic details in this scene. The description of the couch stands out, certainly, but you find so many little ways to bring things to life. Lovely work. And, of course, an intriguing development to send us off into the future...Marchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-65682542839312491862016-02-19T11:32:37.928-08:002016-02-19T11:32:37.928-08:00The bit that will terrify you is when Max recogniz...The bit that will terrify you is when Max recognizes the midwife ;-)<br />Ah, I had a feeling that Grace and Howard weren't going to turn out to be entirely happy in the Present, but it seems as though all might not be lost; Grace doesn't quite seem to have given up though she's clearly reaching her limit. I find myself feeling sorry for her and empathising more strongly with her this time than with Howard. I am curious as to what lies in their future though, there seem to be many paths to take!<br /><br /><b>Present</b><br />The door closed behind the customer, a lady with holes in the knees of her stockings and a thoughtful look on her face. Madame Sosotris wiped her nose on the back of her hand: the cold that had lasted since she'd returned to the Unreal City was barely anything she attended to anymore, though occasionally she regretted that she couldn't smell the Paydemor lilies. She crossed the bare floorboards, walking between the twin couches that faced each other at the end of the room where the fireplace was, and set a deck of tarot cards on the mantlepiece. She had many decks, choosing the most appropriate for whichever visitor she had at the time. It was a relief to set them down and feel the weight of prophecy fall away from her, have the future hide itself from her eyes and let her see what was here and now again. She turned to leave the room and then changed her mind and sat on the couch.<br />It accepted her weight as gently as a new lover and moulded around her, the ancient foam cushions squeaking slightly as they settled. A smell of old dog lifted up like the scent of grass after rain, and somewhere in the back room she heard claws rattling on floorboards. She allowed a faint smile to touch her lips, and languished in her memories of the past for a moment.<br />The knocker fell against the plate three times, sharp sounds that broke her reverie apart and made her sit upright. The couch protested, groaning and the springs <i>spoing</i>ing beneath the cushions, sagging to try and keep her in place. The door swung open, the visitor not waiting to be bidden entry, and a short man in a clearly expensive suit stepped inside. His walking stick tapped on the floor, and she noticed that he was leaning heavily on it. The soft golden nimbus around his head, only visible to those who knew the inner secrets of the Unreal City, proclaimed him to be a Throne.<br />"Don't get up," he said, his voice barely a hiss. She looked at his hands: gnarled, hairy, older than the rest of him by centuries, and now decorated with a thin line of blood. She tensed. "I need a final favour," said the Throne, and she strained her ears to hear him. If he geased her now and she didn't understand what was said the City could maintain her imprisonment indefinitely. "A man will come," said the Throne, "the unlucky Phoenician. You will read his future and he will signify as the Drowned Man. Your task, your <i>only</i> task is to see that he returns alive to the Unreal City three times."<br />"Binding," whispered Madame Sosotris.<br />"Binding," said the Throne. A drop of blood fell to the floor, as red as the setting sun.Greghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08503319830584828982noreply@blogger.com