Read Dellani Oakes’s article: Autho
rs are Sadists
http://jdswritersblog.blogspot.com/2016/09/guest-blog-authors-are-sadists-by.html
This gallery contains 8 photos.
by Ruth Davis Hays
Watching the thin pale smoke inside one of the numerous glow orbs that lined the gallery, Lauralei issued a deliberate sigh. Her maidservant, Ameila, glanced in her direction as they strolled. The Contes had requested Ameila accompany her to the royal court and for that opportunity, the maidservant was grateful. Yet, the few drops of elven blood still residing in her family line were weary of being deep underground. She was longing for wind and trees, the smells of the season and the ripple of leaves. Her psyche screamed, and no matter the height of the room, she wanted to claw off her face.
Shuddering at the ever growing distance she felt from all things green, Ameila tried to attend to her mistress’s mood. “A sigh of boredom or despair, Contes? Are you ready to return to Jeullion?”
“Even you are addressing me by title now?”
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Without waiting for her to ask more, Trevalin released
her and turned to leave. He could not. His feet refused
to part from her. He looked back longingly. “If you
should need me tonight, I would give you all and hold
back nothing.” He sighed. “I would be your slave. But,
I know that I am not your first choice.”
She was left alone, weak-kneed and tingling, to sit
back upon the window seat cushion, guessing what
might be thrown at her next. The hours before the
midnight spellcasting were going to be long indeed.
*******************************************************************
Explore more from the worlds of Jorthus in the fantasy series by Ruth Davis Hays on Amazon or Barnes and Noble!
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“My first day as a sleuth was more Stephanie Plum than Miss Marple.”Jessica Huntington, amateur sleuth with a shopping jones and a black AMEX card, finds out money can’t buy happiness, or save your neck. Even in a desert…
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A few weeks ago I posted a quote from this scene. Here’s the entire piece from one of the manuscripts we’ve been working on lately.
Hazel, an Archaeology prof as well as a solitary eclectic witch decides to visit a new age story called Bunny’s Garden with a coworker and picks up a new piece of jewelry that catches her eye.
For those in the know, the term ‘bunny’ or rather ‘fluffy bunny’ has a lot of connotations in the Pagan/New Age arena.
However, this piece of jewelry is anything but ‘fluffy bunny’. 😉
It’s a first draft, so please be gentle. 😉
****
They exited the sushi bar and headed towards Bunny’s Garden.
“Okay, you were right about the sake,” Hazel admitted. “It was much better than a margarita.”
“Hey, the Japanese have been pairing sake and sushi for generations. They know their food and tequila may not mix,”…
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Pic By Arthur Lin via Flickr
Cassie waited impatiently in the corner booth of Carmelita’s for Stephano. Tapping her red nails on the table’s black, laminate veneer, she wondered what was the angle? Either he had talked to his boss, or he didn’t want his wife Destiny, hearing what he had to say. Perhaps it was a little of both? Turning her head towards the window, she watched people passing by the restaurant, when finally she saw him. Dressed in a long wool coat, with his face barely peeking out from his black fedora was Stephano Rimaldi. Flanked by his two bodyguards, he walked into the restaurant and was greeted instantly by a server who took his coat and hat then, carefully placed them on the coat rack in the corner. Stephano looked over his should at one of his men and without fumbling, the man pulled out a fifty…
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It's all about life and it's glory. No negativity in it though it always remains in everyone's life.It is our duty to make sure that negativity doesn't stop us from living a life of King Size.
author of many genres; no one likes being stationary
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Stories and photos from Scotland
Faith, friendship, and love conquer all.
Storytelling, short stories, fable, folk tales,...
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AuthorKimTerry is Kim Terry's author blog page.
"Of all that is written, I love only what a person has written with his own blood." Fredrich Nietzsche
One Woman Army and A Dog
A wee anthology of dark yarns.
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A journey through my nights
