Their helms removed the two men glared at the princess. Praying to her mother’s spirit for strength, she stared back at them. It may have been her other parent’s soul that touched her, however, as she realized it might be to her advantage that she was the daughter of Bulčar the Butcher. Č. allowed her face to take on an expression she had seen many times on her father when prepared to interrogate or judge. Or worse.
Everyone wondered if this eighteen-year-old mother of an infant had what it takes to rule a principality. Today, on the battlefield, they learn she has deeper reserves than even she ever guessed. I would not want to be either of the prisoners that day.
Sweet dreams, my lecherous lizards!
--the BB
6 comments:
Hey! Who you callin' lecherous?
Excellent writing again, luv.
My WV is "reven". Could the word be worked into your story somehow? It sounds as if it belongs there.
Мими, oops I was still in Russian mode... Mimi, you respond as though lechery were a bad thing.
(Even ex-Baptist preachers get desperate for alliteration sometimes.)
Thank you. This scene startled me; I knew it would be a challenge for the young princess and she is definitely like her mother (thank the stars) but as I was writing it occurred to me just how much she would have learned from her truly horrid father and that this would serve her well. Delicious complexity.
Reven sounds like someone's name in my parallel world. Or a verb. Or both.
So that's Mimi in Russian. Lovely.
You know, my alcoholic father was the bad guy in my childhood, but looking back, I've much thank him for. My love of music, art, reading, and my sheer enchantment with words are due to his genes or to his influence by having music, art work, and books and magazines available at home. We had those extras even when my mother had to go to our extended family for help to pay for groceries.
Many gifts in life come from unexpected sources. We are too prone - well, I am - to see others as "good" or "bad" without recognizing the combination that constitutes them, made of gifts and graces along with vices and brokenness.
I often wonder what my meeting with my father in the afterlife will be like. I've forgiven him, but I can't picture us having a good relationship. I suppose that's where redemption comes in.
I am sure there will be more to do than learn how to play a harp. The first few millennia of eternity may be spend mending fences - and boy, that will be grace, given the state of most fences.
Post a Comment