“Fine,” I say tersely, crumpling the message. I pocket both it and the notes, checking over my shoulder. Behind me, I can hear the battle going on, feel the vibrations continue to buzz over the din. Wherever he has me, it’s keeping us hidden well enough. But the lull has lasted too long. They will find us.
Rasceta; The creases on the inside of the wrist.
knismesis; Light tickling
petrichor; The smell of rain on dry ground
psithurism; The sound of wind in trees or rustling leaves
clithridiate ; Key-hole-shaped
grapholagnia; The urge to stare at obscene pictures
baisemain; kiss on the hand
gymnophoria; The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you
inaniloquent;
Speaking foolishly or saying silly things
Excerpts from a journal I kept while working on Rapunzel. I needed to believe in her as if she were real so I documented my life and thoughts when I was at home not doing anything in particular and translated them into Rapunzel’s world. When it came time to paint her murals I felt like I had a good idea of what she would be thinking about while she was painting.
thought I was making leeway with this fight scene I was writing but turns out I am wrong.
They at my side leave, distributing what few seals I have left. Someone hands me the last one and I take it with a curt nod. I take a moment to sort out the numbness in my stomach, the coldness that begins to overtake my finger before limping toward my father as he pulls himself together from his fall. He shakes his head out, blinking hard as I approach.
“You know,” I say, smoothing the seal between my fingers. “I was going to ask you if you had any last words, but then I realized I don’t want to hear it. I trained,” I say. The ferocity I use to speak causes my lungs to hitch, for the pain to exacerbate in my side. I give a hiss of pain and take a deep breath before continuing.
I was flipping through pages when I realized: I wrote you all wrong.
I don’t have a playlist of sad songs to listen to when I am sad because I am generally bad at making playlists anyway, but then I remembered I made a playlist for some characters in my story and that their backstories were kind of miserable.
I’m listening to that playlist now and wow, it matches my mood perfectly. These characters are so tragic, holy hell.
In which I am a bad writer because I haven’t read a book for the past eight months, hahahaha.
almost finished writing this story I started three to six months ago. It still needs heavy editing, but I am so happy because this is the first story I’ve really finished in a long, long time.
