Lena Corazon

Flights of Fancy

Author: Lena Corazon (page 24 of 24)

Tales from the Archives: “Switch”

Title: “Switch”
Rating: T
Word Count: 2925
Genre: Chick-Lit/Romance
Background Info:

“Switch” is a rewrite of a scene that I wrote for a creative writing class that I took in 2007.  I wanted to return to it as a way to revisit my old chick-lit/romance roots  I hadn’t planned to do much revising to the 2007 version of this scene, but once I started to tweak, I couldn’t manage to stop.  I managed to cut over 300 words in this revision (mostly dialogue tags and some awkward phrases), and add in a few things that I thought were missing.  All in all, I’m pretty pleased with the final product, and would actually consider going back to the chick-lit/romance genre one day in the future.


“Brilliant!” Jade proclaimed in a loud voice as the curtain fell upon the stage, signaling the beginning of intermission. She clapped her hands together in glee and faced her friends as the house lights came on. “Absolutely brilliant and awe-inspiring! Andrew Lloyd Webber is a complete genius. Philip, Maggie, thank you so much for tonight.”

“Anytime, Jade,” Philip said in a deep, rich baritone. Lean and sandy-haired with keen green eyes, a large, distinctive nose and an expressive mouth, he cut an elegant figure in his tuxedo. “It’s not every day that you turn twenty-five, you know.”

“We haven’t seen in you in forever,” Maggie added, leaning against Philip comfortably. “Besides, you’re totally part of the family. We couldn’t do any less.”

Jade hid a smile as she watched Philip playfully tugged at one of Maggie’s auburn corkscrew curls, though a snicker did leave her mouth when Maggie swatted his hand away. Even after three years of marriage, she and Philip seemed as much in love as ever.

The two women had been best friends since high school and nearly inseparable in college. At first glance, they seemed to be complete opposites. Maggie was tall and athletic, porcelain-skinned and freckled, her hair a mass of riotous auburn curls. Jade, on the other hand, was petite and rounded with almond-shaped amethyst eyes that contrasted strikingly with her black hair and caramel complexion. They shared a great deal in common, however, including a love of literature, classic Hollywood films, shopping, and cocktails. Though they also had other friends, they knew they could trust each other with their deepest and most precious secrets.

After graduation, Maggie got married and moved to England. Jade made her way across the pond soon after, having been accepted into a forensic profiling graduate program at Kings College. Her two friends generously allowed her to live with them for a term, providing her with warm, home-cooked meals and a place to live free of charge until she could find a job and a home of her own. Though she had been living on her own for the better part of three years, the trio still met regularly for dinners, parties, and the occasional night out.

Jade cast a sidelong glance at the man sitting silently beside her, looking uncomfortable and ill at ease. Ian was her date for the evening, and though they had been dating for a few months, he didn’t seem to mesh with her two closest friends. It was a troubling warning sign, but she enjoyed his company – when he behaved himself, at any rate. She offered him a flirtatious smile, sliding her hand in his.

“And what did you think of the first act, Ian? I can’t believe that you’ve never seen ‘The Phantom of the Opera.’ You’ve been completely deprived!”

Ian hesitated a moment before answering, but Jade’s exuberance was contagious. “It was wonderful, Jade,” he said with a warm smile. “Thank you for bringing me along.”

“Shall we go for a bit of a stroll?” Philip asked, rising and pulling Maggie up beside him. “I think I could use a stretch.”

“I fear that I’ll have to steal my best friend away from you, Philip,” Jade said with a mock sigh, hooking arms with Maggie and gently tugging her out of the tall man’s grasp. “We’ve got to visit the ladies’ room and powder our noses.”

Maggie hid a smile and shook her head in dismay at her friend’s antics. Philip and Jade behaved like brother and sister whenever possible, joking, teasing, and taunting each other at every possible occasion. In response to Jade’s words, Philip did his best to affect a displeased, brooding scowl.

“And engage in vile gossip, you scandalmongers!” He wagged a finger at them. “Off with you, then.”

“Try to amuse yourselves,” Jade laughed. “We’ll be back soon.” The glare of open distaste that Philip cast in Ian’s direct, however, did not look promising.

“Does he really have to do that?” she asked plaintively, burying her face in her hands, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Do what?” Maggie asked in confusion.

“Treat every single one of my boyfriends like they’ve got the plague or something,” she retorted, flopping down onto one of the cushioned benches in front of an empty vanity table. “I mean, really – what does he have against Ian?”

Maggie snorted unceremoniously as she fished out a tube of lipstick from her tiny gold-beaded evening clutch. “Where do I start?” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” Jade rounded on her best friend with accusing eyes. “What did you say?”

“Hey, you asked! Don’t jump down my throat just because I’m actually honest enough to tell you what I think. Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? Always tell the truth, even if it burns?”

Jade frowned, her dark brows knitting together. She couldn’t fault Maggie’s logic. “Yeah, I suppose. And don’t you dare rub it in! I see that smug look of yours!”

“Ian is nice, I suppose.” Her dubious expression belied her words. “Still, when you come down to it, he’s really an insufferable idiot.”

“A direct quote from your charming husband, I take it.”

“Stop interrupting.” Jade closed her mouth, but it didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes. “You asked for my opinion and I’m going to give it to you.” She paused, anticipating another flippant remark from her friend. When none came, she took a breath and continued.

“Ian is nice, but he’s altogether wrong for you. He’s boring, dull, irritating, doesn’t have any sense of adventure, not to mention a sense of humour…” She trailed off and forced the other woman to face her.

“He’s getting really serious about you, Jade,” she said softly, “and I know you enjoy stockpiling men as if they were your own personal stamp collection, but you might want to take it easy with this one. I think he might like you more than all the others combined.”

Jade frowned at Maggie’s words and turned back to the mirror. Her expression peered back at her, worried and anxious. Irritated, she pulled out a small hairbrush and quickly ran it through her glossy black hair, trying in vain to distract herself.

“I think you’re being too hard on him, Maggie,” she said at last. “He’s a fine man –
successful, stable, financially secure. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be looking for?”

“Clearly you haven’t heard a single word that I’ve said! What about passion, Jade? Fervent ardour and zeal? An instant connection heralded by choirs of sweetly singing angels? Isn’t that what you’ve always talked about since we were girls?”

Jade snapped her purse shut with an abrupt click. “You and Philip got lucky. You met in the most ridiculous, storybook way possible. I mean, he rescued you from a runaway cable car of all things, and you’ve been joined at the hip ever since.” She shook her head despondently. “I don’t think it’s that easy for the rest of us. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know if something like that can even happen for the rest of us.”

She fell silent, brooding for a moment before forcing a smile on her face. It wasn’t the time or the place for such dark thoughts.

“Come on,” she said gaily, smoothing down the front of her slim-fitting black halter dress. “We’d better get back out there before Philip and Ian completely destroy British-American diplomatic relations.”

Arm-in-arm, she and Maggie sauntered back out into the crowded corridor, searching around for the two men. They found them standing off to the side, hostile expressions fixed upon each man’s face as they glared at one another impossibly.

“Did you miss me?” Maggie asked as she sidled up to Philip and wriggled into the circle of his arms. He offered her a grateful smile and a kiss.

“Immensely.” He cradled her close, an eyebrow raised as he glanced in Jade’s direction. “Did you and your friend have enough time to form your diabolical schemes? Should we be frightened by what you’ve planned?”

“Yes,” Jade called flippantly. “Our blueprints for world domination are practically complete. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Philip chuckled at this, though he wisely chose not to respond. “Shall we return to our seats? I’m sure intermission will be over in a few minutes, and I’d hate to miss the beginning of the second act –” He broke off as Jade suddenly walked away, drifting off into the crowd. “Where is she going? Jade, don’t go wandering off!”

“She probably saw something sparkly, Philip,” Maggie said in amusement. “You know how easily distracted she gets.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Jade called back over her shoulder, an abstracted expression on her face. “There’s just a painting that I’d like to see over here. It’s by one of the Romantics. Caspar David Friedrich, if I’m not mistaken…”

Whatever snide remark Philip offered in response was lost on Jade as she drew closer to the painting, her attention fixed upon the sweeping landscape. She had all but lost herself in the vivid brushstrokes and detail when something brushed her bare shoulder, sending shivers up her spine.

“I believe this belongs to you,” a low voice said in her ear.

She turned and stepped back to find herself trapped in the intense grey eyes of the tall man standing behind her. “I – I’m sorry?”

“Your glove, Lady.” He placed the elbow-length black silk glove into her open hand. “You dropped it as you walked down the corridor.”

“Oh, yes.” Her mouth opened and closed stupidly as she attempted to regain some control over her faculties. His mere presence wrought havoc with her senses, and it was all she could do to keep from swooning at his feet.

“I… Thank you, sir,” she said finally. His hand, however, did not leave hers, and it was clear that he had no intention of leaving. “May I have the pleasure of knowing to whom I am indebted?” She should have felt ridiculous, speaking like a character out of an Austen novel, but something about him made her want to hover on the edge of formality.

“Pierce Somerset-Grant,” he replied. His voice was smooth, dark and sinful, and she swallowed hard to keep from visibly trembling. “And you are…?”

“Jade,” she returned, blushing slightly as he raised her bare hand to his lips. “Jade Villanueva.”

There was absolutely no way this man could be real, but here he was, solid and standing before her. He was somewhere around his mid-thirties, with broad shoulders and a stalwart, athletic build that radiated power and authority. His thick, dark brown hair was brushed away from his brow, revealing a widow’s peak and a faintly creased forehead. His features were chiselled and finely hewn – a hawk-like, aquiline nose, strong jaw, wide sensuous mouth – but it was his grey gaze, filled with all the wisdom and sadness and joy and pain of a lifetime, that drew her attention.

The world around them faded and disappeared as they faced each other. Silence stretched out for a long moment before he opened his mouth and spoke. “Have you – have you ever considered the music of the spheres?”

She should have been alarmed by his strange words, but there was something so earnest and honest about him that she couldn’t avoid being helplessly drawn in. “The celestial music of the heavens,” she said after a moment’s thought, “conceived of by Pythagoras, and later revived by the thinkers of the Renaissance.”

He nodded for her to continue, and she swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze away from his. “They believed that it plays when two souls, drawn by destiny, meet for the first time.”

“Yes,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile hovering upon his lips. “That’s right.”

“I’ve considered it.” She held her breath, afraid to exhale, in anticipation of his next question.

“What do you think it sounds like?”

Her voice was a whisper, her heart thudding thunderously. “Like an orchestra tuning.” She spoke without thinking, stepping closer to him. “An orchestra, at the moment when every instrument plays their rightful notes in perfect pitch and perfect harmony. In that moment, for a single heartbeat, the sound is so exquisite that divine light illuminates the world. That is the music of the spheres.”

The faint smile broadened into a grin at her words. “Exactly,” he said. “That is precisely what it sounds like.”

She exhaled at last, feeling as though she passed some sort of integral test or challenge, but before she could articulate her thoughts, Ian’s voice brought her crashing back to reality.

“What is this?” His voice was loud and displeased at the sight of Jade and Pierce standing together, hands clasped. “What the hell is going on here?”

The two parted awkwardly, their inexplicable connection severed. Reluctantly, Jade met Ian’s accusatory gaze, frantically trying to think up a plausible explanation. “I, um, dropped my glove,” she offered lamely, holding up the one that had fallen before sliding it back on to her hand, her skin still burning from where Pierce’s lips had grazed it, “and this gentleman returned it to me.” She tentatively lifted her eyes towards Pierce and was startled by the fierce expression he wore on his face. He was clearly taking Ian’s measure, trying to determine what manner of man he was. From the disdainful sneer on his lips, it was evident that Ian was found wanting.

“Well, isn’t that nice of him?” Ian said in a voice that suggested precisely the opposite, stealing an arm about Jade’s waist in a proprietary gesture. “Now then, dear, we’ve got to get back to our seats – the show will be starting soon, and I know that you’d hate to miss any of it.”

Jade scowled up at him, not appreciating his condescending mannerisms or his patronizing tone of voice. “Not yet, Ian,” she said through clenched teeth, trying to tug away from him, but he was holding on fast. Before she could resort to more drastic measures, Philip’s irritated voice cut through the din of the crowd.

“Dammit, Ian, are you so ineffectual that you can’t manage to drag Jade away from a bloody painting?” he demanded in exasperation. “Hurry up!”

Ian huffed at the insult. “If you really want to know, you’ll have to ask her yourself. She’s clearly not in the mood to cooperate with me.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Not cooperating? You’re the one who’s interrupting my conversations and trying to manhandle me!”

Philip glanced at Maggie helplessly but she merely shrugged, clearly entertained by the disagreement. With a growl, he whirled back to the arguing couple. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Philip?” The four of them froze at the sight of Pierce peering inquisitively at the other man. “Philip Elliot, is that really you?”

“Pierce?” Jade had never seen Philip look so shocked and speechless in her life. “My God, man, I can’t believe it’s you!”

The two met in a warm embrace, then stepped back to barrage one another with endless questions: “What are you doing here? How long has it been? What are you doing with yourself? Where are you living?” At last, Philip recalled that he was not alone, and turned to his wife and friend.

“This is Pierce Somerset-Grant,” he explained as he clapped the other man on the back and presented him to the others. “We’ve been friends practically since birth. Our parents are old chums from university.” He beckoned Maggie to his side. “Pierce, meet my wife, Maggie.”

“She’s beautiful!’ Pierce shook Maggie’s hand warmly before elbowing his friend, a sly smile on his face. “But Philip – how in the world did you convince her to marry you?”

He laughed, though his shrewd eyes easily caught the blush heightening Jade’s cheeks as she surreptitiously eyed Pierce. It was too clear that something had passed between them.

“I would introduce you to our friend Jade,” he said innocently, “but I think it’s safe to say that you’ve already met.”

Jade managed to extract herself from the iron prison of Ian’s arms to stand before Pierce. “Yes, we have. How extraordinary, that the two of you are friends.” They exchanged secret smiles, but before he could respond, the bell signalling the end of intermission sounded.

Philip groaned, clearly more interested in catching up with his old friend than returning to the performance. “Do you have plans for after the show? We’ve got so much to talk about. What do you say to drinks and dessert?”

“I’m completely free,” he replied. “I’ll meet you out front when the play is over.”

Moving with the crowd, the five headed down the corridor towards their seats. Ian walked slightly ahead of everyone else, his jaw clenched in obvious irritation. Jade hesitated, torn between hurrying after her date and lingering behind to exchange a few words with Pierce. When the dark-haired man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, however, she instantly slowed.

“Jade,” he murmured loud enough so that only she could hear, “what are the chances that you can lose that guy between now and the end of the show?”

“‘That guy’?” She lifted her brows, lips twisting in an arch grin. “Don’t you mean my boyfriend?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

The seriousness in his voice made her tingle from head to toe, and in an instant, her decision was clear. “Give me twenty minutes. After that, I’m all yours.”

Inspiration: The Fashion of Guo Pei

Beyond Victoriana, one of my favorite steampunk blogs, featured an article today about the work of Chinese fashion designer Guo Pei.  Her work is absolutely exquisite – big, voluminous pieces that easily rival, if not exceed, some of the best work from European couture collections.  Her “1002nd Arabian Nights” collection is the one featured on Beyond Victoriana; I reproduce some of the images (borrowed via Tom and Lorenzo Blog) here:



This one, though, from her latest collection, totally reminds me of what I was trying to achieve here, when I was brainstorming Princess Liandre’s look for the fantasy/Beauty and the Beast tale that I have been nursing.


(Image courtesy of Rose Studio website)

It’s, like, exactly what I pictured for her (minus the cool short bustle, but I think I like this better).  So. Awesome.

Now I am off to flail and squeal over how pretty all this is.

On Costuming

I’ve been pondering a bit about costuming for this “Beauty and the Beast” tale, and I’ve got some ideas for what people are wearing.  For this 1st scene in my head, I’ve got some ideas for what people are wearing.  I’m envisioning some sort of blend of different historical periods, and if I could draw my life would be way easier.  As it is, I can’t, and so I’ve got to fall back on cobbling together bits and pieces from different sources.
Overall, there’s a strong military and menswear influence on what I’m imagining.  I’m eschewing the big, poufy princess dresses that I usually prefer for something simpler and more tailored, though with a feminine touch.

The Queen

I imagine her wearing an ensemble that has a bit of military influence — a double-breasted coat that is crisply-cut and tailored, paired with a pair of leather leggings or some other long, skinny trousers.  Instead of the high collar, however, the coat boasts the diamond-shaped Queen Anne neckline, complete with a high, starched collar, like so:

Ugh, I seriously wish I could draw, because it would be so much easier to convey what I’m thinking.

EDITED TO ADD:

Just ran across this absolutely exquisite coat from Lizzy Nolan.  It gets close to what I imagined, actually, and I rather like the twist on the buttons.

Coat by Lizzy Nolan

In my head, though, the coat is long, floor-length, and cuts away at the hips to reveal leather leggings.  It’s also black velvet, with delicate embroidery done in gold and silver threading — a bit severe and sober, yet rich enough to be fitting for royalty.  The Queen is disdainful of too much luxury, would rather be in a jerkin and leggings (and on horseback) instead of a dress, so her clothing has to accomodate that.

Liandre

Liandre, on the other hand, follows the fashion conventions for other young, high-born ladies in the capital.  For the first scene I have in mind, she’s dressed casually.

The elements:

1. White shirt with billowy sleeves

It’s not quite pirate (and definitely NOT slutty pirate, which is all I seem to be able to find when I search google images), but what I imagine to be a comfortable sort of shirt to hang out in.  It is paired with…

2. A shirtwaist corset.

Again, it’s a simple one — no embroidery, nothing uber-decorative, just elegantly functional.  This one from Etsy totally fits the bill:

3. A short bustle skirt.

It adds a feminine sort of touch to the ensemble.  The short bustle skirts from Lovechild Boudoir are totally what I have in mind, like this one, “Honeymoon in Paris”:

4. Final touches.

Leather leggings (which pretty much seem to be standard fare amongst the women) and a pair of flat black leather riding boots.  With buckles.  Because everything is better with buckles.

Inspiration: The Fairy Tale

I fell asleep last night musing about some of my earliest writing inspirations: fairy tales.

I am, of course, of the generation characterized by the Disney Princess.  The first film I remember seeing in the theatre is Beauty and the Beast; this was quickly followed by Aladdin, which I absolutely adored, especially because the characters were brown, Princess Jasmine had long, shiny black hair, and her singing voice was done by Lea Salonga, the first (and so far, only) Filipina to win a Tony award.  Being brown, half-Filipina, and extraordinarily proud of my waist-length black hair, my 6 year-old self was convinced that this meant that I was Princess Jasmine, and no one could convince me otherwise.  (I was also convinced that Agrabah was just like the Philippines, and made my father tell me stories about princesses and fire-eaters and bazaars, but that’s another story for another time).

Before Disney, though, I had my trusted book of fairy tales.  Before I could read, my mom would read one story a day before naptime, and I would gaze at the illustrations of exquisite women in beautiful gowns, and dream of being one of them (only brown — I was acutely aware of race and representation, even then, and the fact that all the beautiful women were fair-skinned wasn’t lost on me).  The story behind the book was important as well, and woven into the magic that seemed to surround the book.

My mother told me that she had bought it, along with a copy of the children’s Bible (which was also intensely special to me, and which I read cover-to-cover more than once when I was in grade school), before I was born, when she was single and living alone and dreaming of the children that she would have one day.  It was such a romantic idea, and it made me love the book all the more.

Today, the binding is frayed and falling apart, due to my younger sister throwing it around when she was a toddler (I rescued it and hid it from her; the kid just didn’t know how to appreciate anything).  Going through it, though, reveals how deeply the book and its images managed to influence me.

A few years back, for example, I wrote a myth where a woman is born from a mysterious flower, one that dwells in the deepest, darkest part of an enchanted garden.  She is a faerie-like creature, winged and precious.  Flipping through my fairy tale book, however, I landed upon this illustration from the story, “Thumbelina,” which must have been stuck somewhere in my subconscious:

There are so many images that stay with me still, like Beauty playing the lute while living in the Beast’s magical castle:

Or Karen, the poor girl in “The Red Shoes,” who manages to snag a pair of beautiful red leather shoes, but then finds that she is doomed to dance in them forever:

Or my favorite, the Spanish princess about to be eaten by a terrible dragon:

I fell in love with the clothing, too, the old-fashioned, medieval-esque gowns.  They served as the inspiration for my fashion sketching days, and even now, my characters dash about in period costume.  Quite clearly, this was an incredibly formative book in my life.

Anyway, I woke up this morning with fairy tales still on the brain.  There’s so much I want to do with them, from taking my favorites and twisting them into my own adult versions, Claiming of Sleeping Beauty style, to using them as a launching pad for something different and new, something that plays with gender norms and roles (’cause let’s face it, I’ll be damned if I am going to write yet another ‘damsel in distress’ tale), toys with conventions, and yet weaves some of those familiar elements into it as well.

I’m not out to reinvent the wheel, however.  This sort of project has been done countless times before, and by authors more talented than me.  But I’ve realized that I draw my joy, happiness, and energy from the process of writing, and not just from the lovely outcome.  It’s the process of struggling to convey new ideas, of attempting to translate the images in my imagination to text on a page, of trying to shape and form prose into a form that has beauty and meaning, of giving life to characters and creatures and worlds — to me, this is what it means to be a writer.

Princess-Warriors, Lords Locked in Castles, and Fractured Fairy Tales

I’ve had fairy tales on the brain.

I’ve been reflecting on the influence that fairy tales have had on my writing over the years, as seen here, and I’ve also been thinking about how I might return to them in a more deliberate way, using them as a launch pad for new projects and ventures.  I’ve been in such a low place when it comes to writing for over a year now, and even before that, my writing was restricted to permutations of the same 4 characters, which was fun when it was just a silly project between my friend/writing partner and me, but severely curtailed the multiplicity of universes, ideas, and characters that I once had.

So here I am, entertaining thoughts about revisiting one of my old favorites, “Beauty and the Beast.”

Really, it’s a striking story: a man trapped in a castle, doomed because of his hubris and arrogance and pride, who can only be freed by the love of a woman.

Sure, she’s at risk from his “beastly” nature, as the Disney version demonstrated.  Yeah, she’s got to unearth his more gentlemanly qualities (which kinda reminds me of those terrible self-help relationship books for women: “A good woman can transform a bad boy into a chivalrous gentleman!”).  But it also creates a space where it might be possible to really toy with gender norms, or to at least give that female character more room to kick ass and be more aggressive than most fairy tales allow.

I’m always a little skeptical of the “feminist-izing” of the fairy tale, if only because I’ve read some interpretations that are so damn CHEESY and really… I dunno, self-conscious about the project.  I want something that’s different, something that tries to toy with established norms, but at the end of the day, I want a story that’s good, with characters that are fully-formed and complex.

(One of my favorite “feminist” tales has got to be The Lioness Quartet by Tamora Pierce.  It’s a fantasy and not an explicit reinterpretation of a fairy tale, but it features a female protagonist who is amazing and kick-ass and strong, yet flawed and wonderfully human… I highly recommend the series to anyone who hasn’t yet read it.)

But I digress.  I’ve started brainstorming a “fractured fairy tale” of my own, and it is actually really intriguing to me.  I’m starting from the premise that I want a story that features a cast of female characters who can transcend stereotypes, women who are lovers and fighters, who can be unapologetically sensual and sexual (no slut-shaming here), who can be sexually fluid, who are intelligent, witty, and exist as more than enablers for male characters, or devices to move the plot forward.

In this vein, we have Liandre, the princess of a realm that’s still nameless, but seems to be (in my head, at least) somewhat matrilineal in terms of the order of succession to the throne.  She is the only child of the queen,  Simone Hallivere, who is loved throughout the land for her battle prowess, her fierce sense of justice, and her shrewd political intelligence.  The Hallivere line has ruled for some 300 hundred years, but in order for each princess to be designated heir to the throne, she has to prove her mettle through some act of renown.

This, perhaps, is where our story opens.

Liandre is approaching her twenty-first birthday (the age of majority), when she should be formally named heir to the throne.  Unfortunately, Liandre is a mediocre student and still hasn’t undertaken the ritual rite-of-passage.  Her advisors are beyond frustrated with her (because she happens to be a bit incorrigible, unruly and rebellious, and enjoys provoking everyone), her mother is at the end of her tether, and there are rumblings that she will be the weak link in the Hallivere line, the one who will cause their rule to fail.

Enter Liandre’s aunt, the sorceress/enchantress/witch Erlinda.

There’s magic at work in this universe, and a goddess who is more than a theological belief, but an actual presence and force (here I’m thinking about Jacqueline Carey’s Kushiel’s Legacy series, as well as Pierce’s work — in their work, gods and goddesses are true actors, lurking in the background of their heroines endeavors.).  In my mind, magic flows through the blood of the Hallivere queens, but every few generations it surfaces in ways more potent than others.  These women inherit the full gift of the Goddess, which includes a command of magic and a lengthened life-span.

Erlinda is one of these women, and is something like 150 years old.  She tells Liandre a story, a tale that Erlinda’s mother confessed on her death bed.  It goes something like this:

“Many, many years ago, my mother fell in love with a man, a great lord who ruled a kingdom in the foothills of the Emerald Mountains.  So deep was her love for him that she gave him a most precious gift: an enchanted rose, one that would protect him from all harm while he kept it in his grasp.

My mother’s trust, however, was misplaced, for the handsome lord betrayed her.  The deep love that she felt for him was only passing fancy on his side.  He gave the rose to another, the daughter of some powerful baron from a neighboring land.

In her wrath, she cursed him, trapped him in stasis, never to age, never to love, never to die until the spell can be broken.”

It’s a seemingly impossible task, one based on legend and hearsay and not on solid fact, but it is tantalizing to Liandre, something more exciting than staid, cliched dragon rescues (the fall-back option that her advisors have been encouraging) and yet easier than, say, defeating an army (her mother’s claim to fame).  And so she sets off on her journey to find the Beast in his frozen castle…. and goodness knows what she’ll find there.  Someone dark and brooding, who had his share of pretty negative qualities to begin with but has now festered in darkness for a couple of centuries… He’s bound to be great company.  But I have a thing for Byronic heroes, so what’s a girl to do?

Anyway, still working on some drabbly things that can capture these ideas together.  Also pondering this interesting world where we have sword-wielding Queens blessed by the Goddess, etc.  Is it steampunky?  Straight up-and-down medieval-esque?  I still haven’t decided, and I imagine I’ll have to toy and tinker with it till I’m certain.

In the meantime, something from Kate Beaton on the Bronte sisters and their ridiculous love for Byronic heroes:



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