Writing Prompt 047

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Sophia’s fingers hurt from twisting them around each other as she had been doing for the majority of the morning. Asking father for something could either be extensively intimidating and rejection enhancing, or it could be the complete opposite; Full of excitement, hope and happiness. It really all depended on his mood and the sensibility of the request in question.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She was a descendant of a stalwart, brave lot, full of knights, nobility and even one famed ancestor who, though being a lady, had won in a jousting tournament against the king’s own bodyguard and most trusted knight. If only she could be more like Lady Agatha, the woman who, though dead these 30 years, was still talked about with pride and awe amongst the town folk. But Sophia was a timid girl. Always had been.Read More »

Writing Prompt 046

 

Writing Prompt 046

She was inadequate.

Utterly unworthy.

As a young queen, she had watched her husband with awe and admiration. The king was bold, brave, wise. . . everything a king should be. Her beloved husband was kind, compassionate, yet still a ruler. Someone the entire kingdom looked up to.

Yet as she stood, waiting to go out before her people, her legs felt week and trembling. Her shoulders pinched with the pain of the stress she was under. Her eyes were dry and her heart throbbed hard in her ears, reverberating through her aching head with an intensity that made her stomach roil.Read More »

Writing Prompt 045

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Tears of pain and gut-wrenching sorrow streamed down her face, mixing with the ashes and dirt that streaked her skin. The fire and heat threatened her very breaths with its power.

It had been a normal day, working as a maid servant for her mistress, the Lady Constance. She had returned home, enjoyed a meal with her family, then headed to the barn to complete her chores for the evening. The sounds of yelling and cries for help, crashing, pounding and riotous laughter woke her from a nap in the haymow. She had looked out a hole in the barn wall and witnessed the plunder of her house by marauders.Read More »

Writing Prompt 044

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She strolled quietly, almost tiptoeing out to the end of the crude dock they had constructed. She loved these early morning times of quietness. Before even the birds woke up. Fog floated softly over the top of the water, and the night frogs still sang their hollow songs. A soft breeze waved the plants around the ponds edge as she stood, looking out over the lake with her hands in her pockets.Read More »

Writing Prompt 043

Writing Prompt 043

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Tears streamed from her tired eyes and splashed down her face and onto the foliage below. An entire afternoon and night she had spent in the forest, lost. Mama and Papa had always told her to stay where she was when lost. Dawn was just starting to crack the sky apart and she was wet and trembling in it’s feeble light. She was thankful that the light chased the shadows away, and that she could now see the sounds of the forest instead of just hearing them. They had tormented her all night. Shapeless shuffling’s and noisy bird noises. She had slept nary a wink fearing that she would be eaten by the feared black bear of the region.

A branch cracked to her right and she jumped. Perhaps the bear had come for her after all.Read More »

Writing Prompt 042

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The cold rain that beat against the window at her back somehow seemed to match the mood of the day.

Leora curled up on the window seat a little tighter and pulled the afghan up higher. She rocked herself. In the silence, the old manor house seemed to take on its own voice, the old boards creaking and the eaves sighing with the weight of the rain. She could almost imagine it with its own despair. The unnerving feeling of being alone made her heart beat quicker. The housekeeper and maid had taken to their own homes and her uncle had not yet returned from his trip. She prayed he would arrive soon.Read More »

Writing Prompt 041

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They met over a toad.

He was a small, gangly little boy, with eyes full of mischief and a determined expression. He walked up to her at the first church picnic of the season, held out his hand on which rested a fat little toad and grinned.

“Will you be my friend?”

She had given the toad a glare, but she was no sissy. Toads didn’t scare her. She took the toad, put it in her apron pocket and looked him in the face. “Sure.”Read More »