Long Teaser Game

Writers' Corner
22

She walked to the desk and braced herself against it, praying to the gods to make her head stop spinning before she went up the stairs.

[name_f][/name_f]

“Are you okay?” [name_m]Kieran[/name_m] asked, eyebrows raised in concern. “You don’t look so good.”

[name_f][/name_f]

“Just tired,” she lied. “It’s been a long morning up there.”

[name_f][/name_f]

[name_m]Kieran[/name_m] sighed. “I bet. Have you heard the rumors yet?”

[name_f][/name_f]

“Which ones?”

[name_f][/name_f]

“About the royal physician?”

[name_f][/name_f]

“Was he caught fooling around with the stable boy again?”

[name_f][/name_f]

“Not that I know of,” [name_m]Kieran[/name_m] grinned, before leaning in, his voice turning serious. “I heard from my cousin, who heard from her fiancé’s brother who works for the king, that the royal physician is sick.”

[name_f][/name_f]

“That’s what happens when you work with sick people,” [name_f]Runa[/name_f] shrugged, unimpressed.

[name_f][/name_f]

“Not sick, like he has a fever. He’s sick.[name_f][/name_f] With the plague. And he’s not getting better.”

[name_f][/name_f]

[name_f]Runa[/name_f] drew back in shock. Her shoulders screamed at her for moving, but she ignored them.

[name_f][/name_f]

“What?” She breathed.

[name_f][/name_f]

[name_m]Kieran[/name_m] nodded enthusiastically, always the gossip. “Rumor has it that he’s in stage six right now.”

[name_f][/name_f]

[name_f]Runa[/name_f] thought back to step six, which entailed permanent blindness and led to the nasty boils opening up. It was the final stage before the inevitable stage seven: death.

[name_f][/name_f]

“Do you know what this means?” She breathed.

[name_f][/name_f]

“It means we’ll no longer get to hear the gory details about the physician’s scandalous and eventful love life,” [name_m]Kieran[/name_m] sniffed. “Shame. What will the gossip columnists write about now?”

[name_f][/name_f]

Next:[name_f][/name_f] shame

23

The moment the crowd erupted into applause, the air crackled with energy, but in the shadows behind the stage, a storm brewed. Blight’s fury whipped through the dimly lit corridor, palpable as smoke curling from a fire. Her piercing blue eyes, usually so composed and confident, now gleamed with a fierce indignation as she confronted [name_m]Bane[/name_m], who stood several paces back, visibly shaken.
[name_f][/name_f]“Do you understand the peril you have placed us in?” she snapped, her voice low and clipped, a dangerous echo of authority. “You deviated from the plan, revealing powers that should remain hidden! What were you thinking?” Each word was a blow, cutting through the haze of their shared triumph, leaving [name_m]Bane[/name_m] reeling in the aftermath of her words.
[name_f][/name_f]“I thought… I thought it—”
[name_f][/name_f]“Well, you thought wrong!”
[name_f][/name_f][name_m]Bane[/name_m] flinched at the intensity of Blight’s
[name_f][/name_f]words, a wave of shame crashing over him as he struggled to meet her gaze. He could feel the heat of her frustration radiating off her, a stark contrast to the fleeting applause that still echoed in his ears. The elation of the crowd felt foreign now, tainted by the weight of his misstep. What had begun as a moment of triumph transformed into the realization that he had veered off the carefully plotted course they had established together.
[name_f][/name_f]“I just wanted to show them…” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words felt flimsy, inadequate. The thrill of conjuring beauty had been intoxicating, yet now he felt as though he had sullied their carefully crafted image. He had let his exuberance get the better of him, and in doing so, he risked everything they had worked for.
[name_f][/name_f]“Show them?” Blight repeated, incredulity lacing her tone. “Show them what? That we are demons?!”
[name_f][/name_f]“No… I… You use your powers!” [name_m]Bane[/name_m] felt anger rising within him as he realized the hypocrisy.
[name_f][/name_f]“My powers are different,” Blight hissed, her voice a biting whisper that echoed through the corridor. She took a step closer, her imposing figure towering over [name_m]Bane[/name_m], who remained rooted to the spot, a whirlwind of emotions crashing violently within him. “Mine instill awe. Yours could instill fear. You don’t understand the implications of what we are trying to achieve here.”

[name_f][/name_f]

[name_m]New[/name_m] Word: [name_f]Beauty[/name_f]

24

(Reviving this thread)

“Young [name_m]Master[/name_m] Thorpe,” a melodious voice called out. [name_m]Brason[/name_m] turned to see one of the Fairfield quadruplets approaching, her smile as radiant as the sun. “We’re so pleased you could attend in your father’s stead.”
“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Fairfield,” [name_m]Brason[/name_m] replied smoothly, bowing with just the right degree of formality. “I trust I’ll have the opportunity to convey my father’s regards to the [name_m]General[/name_m] personally?”
“Of course,” she nodded, her blue eyes twinkling. [name_m]Brason[/name_m] didn’t know which of the quadruplets she was, but she was surely the loveliest woman in the room. That is, until he noticed another.
This other woman was not one of the quadruplets, but she rivaled them in beauty. [name_m]Light[/name_m] brown hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, perfectly complementing her red ball gown.
[name_m]Brason[/name_m] had to speak with her. “Excuse me, Lyra,” he said to the quadruplet. “But I have something I need to go do.”
[name_m]The[/name_m] quadruplet frowned. “I’m Lettice.”
“Yes, of course.” [name_m]Brason[/name_m] winced internally at his misstep but maintained his composed exterior. “My deepest apologies, [name_f]Lettice[/name_f]. [name_m]The[/name_m] fault is entirely mine.” He offered a charming smile, hoping to smooth over the awkward moment.
Lettice’s frown softened slightly. “It’s quite alright, [name_m]Young[/name_m] [name_m]Admiral[/name_m]. We’re used to it.” [name_m]Her[/name_m] tone carried a hint of resignation, reminding [name_m]Brason[/name_m] of the unique challenges faced by identical siblings in Phatian high society.
With a final nod to [name_f]Lettice[/name_f], [name_m]Brason[/name_m] made his way across the room, weaving through clusters of finely dressed guests. [name_m]The[/name_m] woman in the red gown stood near one of the marble pillars of the room, observing the gathering with an air of quiet interest.
As he approached, [name_m]Brason[/name_m] noticed subtle details that set her apart from the usual Phatian elite. [name_m]Her[/name_m] posture, while graceful, was more that of a peasant trying to fit in. [name_m]Not[/name_m] that he cared. A woman this beautiful deserved the benefit of the doubt.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said with a small bow. “My name is [name_m]Brason[/name_m] [name_m]Thorpe[/name_m], son of [name_m]Admiral[/name_m] [name_m]Augustus[/name_m] Thorpe.”
“I’m Erica,” she replied with a curtsy.
[name_m]Brason[/name_m] didn’t care that she had only given him her first name. [name_f]She[/name_f] was even more stunning up close. He noticed with shock that her eyes were two different colors, one blue and one brown. He was speechless. “Your eyes…”
[name_m]The[/name_m] woman laughed. “I get that a lot. It’s called heterochromia.”

[name_m]New[/name_m] Word: Doubt

25

[name_f]Lucy[/name_f] snorted, already rolling her eyes when [name_m]Enzo[/name_m] put up a hand to silence her and make her listen. “The man knows names, [name_f]Lucy[/name_f], not faces. Make one up and he’ll be none the wiser.”

[name_f]She[/name_f] looked at him doubtfully. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” He promised. “You’re going to go to a bar called [name_m]The[/name_m] Foxhole. While you’re there, look for a man named [name_m]Keegan[/name_m]. He’ll be the quietest man in the room.”

[name_m]Keegan[/name_m]. Noted.

Enzo’s eyes flickered down to his wrist. [name_f]She[/name_f] followed his gaze, finding a silver watch sitting there, hands ticking impatiently. Something in her chest jumped instinctively. [name_m]The[/name_m] watch wasn’t close enough to affect her, but something animal in her mind saw silver and immediately thought bad.

“Two hours until sunrise,” he said, stuffing his hand in his pocket. “I should be going. Enjoy your visit.”

He nodded his head at the fence. [name_f]Lucy[/name_f] gave him an unblinking look, watching every movement. [name_f]She[/name_f] heard a dull rapping noise and realized it was her boot tapping the dirt beneath it. [name_m]The[/name_m] scent of blood was thick in her nose, and somewhere in the back of her mind she realized it was tapping in tune with Enzo’s pulse.

Next: watch

26

I am the only one in the house who isn’t watching [name_f]Jane[/name_f] die. I don’t understand why most of them are bothering.

Nothing has changed since [name_f]Bridget[/name_f] died six years ago, except for how many children there are in the house, and I can’t think why her children would want to watch their mother take her last breaths.

[name_f]Ada[/name_f] and [name_f]Nell[/name_f] were inconsolable during their mother’s last days, and I don’t recall being much better. [name_m]Robin[/name_m] was clinging to life himself when his mother died.

I was a newborn.

[name_f]Ada[/name_f] says that the people in town whisper about how Father has been murdering his wives, frequently where she can hear them, which is simply not true. It’s consumption. It has always been consumption.

But I don’t leave the house for much at all. I have to wonder how much it is possible for them to know about this family when there’s every chance they don’t even know that I survived.

No matter how little interest I have in watching another stepmother die, I’m standing outside Jane’s door and listening. It’s not quite closed. They shouldn’t know I’m here, the carpet in the hallway muffling any sound I might be making as I shift my weight, but I can hear them well enough. Especially Harry’s crying.

He shouldn’t be in there. He’s only four. [name_f]Nell[/name_f] was the same age when her mother died, and I can remember how she clung to [name_f]Ada[/name_f] and me for weeks afterwards like it was yesterday. Father will let [name_m]Harry[/name_m] stick to him, of course — he’s my half-brother, the only other boy Father truly has, and anyone can see he’s the favourite — but it won’t help much now.

Consumption is an awful disease.

Next: truly

1 Like
27

[name_f]She[/name_f] went over the facts she knew about him again in her head, the thoughts twisting and weaving themselves into a tapestry that resembled a person. They each stood out like a word on a page, each meaningless on their own but together working into some semblance of a story. They were pieces of a puzzle she was desperate to put together, and she was only a few pieces away from completing it.

“James [name_m]Van[/name_m] Helsing,” she muttered to herself, savoring the taste of his name on her tongue.

He was [name_m]Van[/name_m] Helsing’s great nephew, and a year older than her. She’d heard stories about him in passing as a child (“James can speak three languages and is learning his fourth.” “James bested his father in a fencing match.” “James is so scared of horses that he once cried at the sight of a pony.”), but she’d never truly dwelled on him until [name_m]Van[/name_m] Helsing delivered the news of his living with them a few weeks before.

“Just until the summer, and then he’ll return home,” [name_m]Van[/name_m] Helsing had explained. “His father has requested I teach him the art of hunting, and he will be spending the majority of the year living with us now while his father travels on business.”

He went on to talk about the arrangements that needed to be made, and the spare bedroom that needed to be cleaned out, but [name_f]Lucy[/name_f] barely listened. All she knew was that, for nine months out of the year, she would have a friend.

And the beginning of those nine months was today.

Next: friend

28

Later on, when they’d come over, [name_f]Annika[/name_f] would help me cook, and I would chat with her while [name_f]Margot[/name_f] showered or did work in the other room. I had always liked her, but I was beginning to think that maybe the joy she brought [name_f]Margot[/name_f] was less of a fulfillment and more of a dopamine hit.

“So, you met Margot’s parents last weekend?” I asked. “How was it?”

[name_f]She[/name_f] smiled softly to herself. “I met her dad. He’s lovely. I think he liked me.”

“Good, that’s good,” I replied. I wanted to test the waters. “What about your parents?”

[name_f]Annika[/name_f] bit her lip and the smile faded.

“They’ve met [name_f]Margot[/name_f], and they love her, but they don’t know she’s my girlfriend. I think they like having someone who isn’t [name_f]Indian[/name_f] to taste their [name_f]Indian[/name_f] food. She’s, like, the favorite white girl at my house.”

What? I stood up straighter. They’d been dating for eight months. It had gotten very serious, very fast. [name_f]Margot[/name_f] was even thinking about proposing. And for most people, I’d say that would be too soon, there were so many conversations to be had—but [name_f]Annika[/name_f] and [name_f]Margot[/name_f] had had almost all of them.

But as I was discovering, not this one.

“Are they…homophobic?” I formed the question slowly, not wanting to sound harsh, or to pry too hard. For a moment the look on her face told me that I had failed, I shouldn’t have asked. But she answered me anyway.

“They’re just traditional,” she stirred the curry. “They know I’m queer…and that’s fine with them, but only because they have the expectation that I’ll marry a man.”

[name_m]The[/name_m] bait is just too easy.

“Is that what you want? To marry a man?”

[name_f]She[/name_f] turned to me with surprise, then looked at her feet. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever envisioned myself marrying a man. But I love Margot."

“You know,” I said slowly, “Margot is all in.”

“All in?”

“With you, [name_f]Annika[/name_f]. She’s in it for the long haul.”

“I know.”

“She doesn’t do that for just anyone. [name_f]She[/name_f] doesn’t hand out her love like that.”

“I know.”

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you in it? For the long haul?”

“I love her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

[name_f]Annika[/name_f] stopped stirring and sets the wooden stirring stick on a paper towel, turning to face me. She’s really looking at me this time. I thought she’d be angry. But she looked sad. Defeated. And her eyes were wide with a fear I’ve never seen from her before.

“I love her,” she whispered.

next: parents

1 Like
29

July loved her name. Out West, July was her favorite month of the year. Crowds flocked to her town to get a taste of summer before the worst of the fires began, and the Joneses were kept at the motel for wildly long hours keeping up with the endless tourists. July could ramble through streets and beach boardwalks until she was back to being nobody—nobody, with no case worker, no folder of vaccine records in an always-packed, hand-me-down backpack, no curfew or awkward “family” dinners with the new kids. She liked laying on the sand in the hottest, driest part of a Saturday, when she would be just one of thousands scalding their skin on the beach with a bad book in their hands. She liked pretending that she was a teenager on vacation from some faraway city, July in July, taking a week off classes at one of those fancy private schools that goes year-round.

She even liked what her name would become next year, if the vague commitments from Sharon and Jeff were anything to go by, when she would age out, be offered their name, and change her own: July Jones. She liked the sound of it: liquid smooth and unforgettable, like the hero of a kids book. “July” was the only permanent gift left from unknown parentage— the way an ordinary daughter might wear an heirloom bracelet, while July had only her name.

In the Monde, however, July was a month most people hated. The air hung hot and heavy over May flowers that wilted immediately under their newfound oppressor. A person couldn’t spend more than a minute outdoors before facing the same fate, chest tight and eyes watering in surrender. July hated July in the Monde, the stinking offense of it, no escape via nearby sea or slight northern breeze. She couldn’t understand why her now supposedly Mondian parents would ever give their child a name that felt like rotten fruit, like reckless, prolonged cruelty.

next: fruit

2 Likes
30

Poolhaven was known for its beauty, but this was surely its least beautiful tree. Gnarled, serpentine branches held leaves as jagged as knives and foul-smelling red fruit. It was a decent place to hide the gem, simply because no one would ever want to go there. [name_f]Arnold[/name_f] stared up at it, wondering how he was going to climb. If the gem wasn’t there, he was going back to [name_m]Basil[/name_m] no matter what he said. He would rather lose his job than Basil’s life.

(this was actually not long but the rest of the clip isn’t very good lol)

Next: hide

31

[name_m]The[/name_m] problem with killing vampires was that it wasn’t like the movies. They didn’t crumble to dust or explode into shadows.

They left bodies. Bodies that—aside from the fangs and pallor complexion—looked very human. Which made it difficult to move or hide them.

[name_f]Lucy[/name_f] kicked the vampire’s head away from the body, not chancing some dark force knitting his skin back together when she wasn’t paying attention. It rolled away a bit like a soccer ball, stopping against the shed wall. There was a dark puddle of black sludge near his neck where she had severed his head. Vampire blood, in all its old, rotting glory.

[name_f]She[/name_f] wrinkled her nose in disgust. Turning away, she reached into her purse—retrieved from outside the shed—and pulled out her phone. [name_f]She[/name_f] unlocked it and clicked her contacts, scrolling through until she found the name she was looking for.

Next: puddle