Angelina

Angel of beauty

Never leaves your side

Glows brighter than the sun

Everlasting heartache

Loving forever

In my heart always

Never will fade away

And is always as bright as day.

Sea Foam Green

 

The air above is misty,

Sweet, warm, and salty

Gritty–naturally salty,

Burning my nose.

It looks so soothing,

Calm, and moving

An aurora on land

That sways and feels,

Ebs and flows

Gently crashes and cracks

Sprays and fizzes,

Sizzles

Tiny bubbles that stick to my skin,

They pop

Like blue pop rocks

That make me pucker

And almost hurts when they crack,

But leaves me soothed,

Unbroken.

The Girl

Her body closed off from the world as if to immerse herself in her own universe, ever so silently murmuring the words to her favorite song. With a dropped head and her face firmly in her lap, she focused her eyes on a section of the floor that had been walked on a few too many times.

The fiber of the office like carpet was now breaking free and the release forced him to stand upright. No more of this lying down and being stomped on, no, this fiber had endured enough. Over time the other surrounding him would also rise causing what some might classify as a fiber revolution.

Reaching for the clouds and fighting the power of the rest of the blue and grey carpet, this section of the flooring would be replaced. Freeing those who stood against the norm and battled valiantly, allowing them to live out their days among the outdoor dump. The sunshine forever beaming down on them and the breeze cooling them as they danced with it.

Then suddenly the girl had realized that her heart rate had risen with the fibers of her imagination and she was singing louder and louder as the vision progressed in her mind. Slowly her eyes came off the floor to see what she was terrified of. The hallway she was once occupying alone had become overly populated and no one was speaking, they were all staring at her. She was no longer the center of her world, but had become the center of the real one also.

Prologue

The mountainous breeze blew through the fair maiden’s hair as she danced to the tune of the Spring Equinox. Under the light of the faerie lamps, the maiden spun in circles with her dance partner, the Prince Anga. He held her hands gracefully in the moment. The night sky shone brightly with thousands of stars decorating the sky as the Quenya elves started the night off with a peculiar dance. Princess Alta let the fabric of her hand woven dress slide against her satin skin. The crisp, cool air intertwined with the elven families present at the festival. Alta watched Anga tiredly and glanced around the open fields looking for a way to escape his clutches. Anga was persistent though. He held onto Alta with his massive hands.

“Tonight is our night, my princess,” Anga whispered in her ear.

He twirled her again through the blurring crowd. As the night had begun, she felt at home until Anga pulled her into his strong arms. She had watched the royal couples gather in the center of the dance floor to start the festival off with the evening dance. Her father had placed his trust in her to be with Anga, but her heart was not in it. She knew that being a Quenya meant that she was to be with a Quenya. Alta only came to these events for her royal bloodline. In addition, she had seen a male elf in the backgrounds with his entire face covered with a mask. She knew it had to be her Dro for he had promised to see her before the night was over.

“Lord Anga, I must say I’m a very tired. May I rest for a while?”

Anga took her hand in his. “My lady, come sit and watch the dance.”

“It is fine. I think I shall go home. I am feeling a bit faint.

“Then I shall escort you there myself.” Anga let go of Alta.

Alta did not want to be with Anga and she had to make sure he would be able to follow her. She pulled away from him and ducked into the crowd that was shifting back and forth to the music. Under the pressure of the faerie music, Alta slipped into a trance. She imaged Anga coming towards her with his sword in hand and Dro sliding up next to her with his own sword in his hand. She clutched her forehead.

“Neh, neh. Uum n’ mart! Uum n’ mart!” she cried.

Diving in front of Dro, she made herself the target of Anga. Her blonde hair billowed out around her. Dro clasped her shoulder tightly, his white eyes glowing fiercely. With sheer determination, Alta pushed herself forward.

“I will not allow anyone I love to get hurt.”

Anga snarled at her response. “Do you think that you love this–this mornie ele?”

Time froze. Her heart spoke the truth yet her mind told her otherwise. “I just want peace. A good leader always brings peace for all of the ambar to live in. That is my goal.”

Anga walked towards them smoothly, his eyes fixated on Dro. “I do wish that you have not put my dear love under your spell, you lomea lumbule!”

“No. Her heart is pure, unlike yours. Alta, go to the place of sorrows. I will come to you when I defeat him, my love.”

Alta nodded and ran. She ran as she had never run before. Dro was not like any other Drow she knew. Moreover, Anga would surely lose to him, but the light faded from her eyes and before she could step foot outside the fields.

~°°°~

Opening her eyes to a dim lighted room, she rolled onto her side to see Dro resting in the corner with the hood of his cloak pulled up over his face. The windows covered themselves with a thick sheet of wool while the room itself had no furniture and as for the door, it was jimmied shut. The floor, it seemed, was rotted. Alta lowered her feet onto the cold, rotten floorboards. A loud creak shuddered across the room. Dro shot up from his seat to stare the beautiful Alta in the face.

“My love, forgive me.” He dropped to his knees in fear.

“All is forgotten. Why am I here? Weren’t we to meet–?”

“No, no. This is my secret house on the outskirts of my home. You have been welcomed into it.”

“Stand up, Dro. You say we are safe? Then relax.”

Alta walked around the room taking little step by little step. Her eyes were adjusting to the light space in the room. Upon looking at the bare walls, she noticed a faint carving in it: ‘Gaer orn tlu vharc ulu jal nindyn vel’uss gyolaen udossa!’ The saying was in Drow, a language she was still trying to learn and Dro was teaching her little by little. A faint whiff of smoke coming from below scared her. She spun to face the door to see Dro leaning against it. His face was intent on something, but for the life of her, she did not know.

“Dro, something’s burning.”

“It’s the fire I made last night. You’re safe my dear.”

“Can we not we go outside then? I do desire fresh air.”

Dro sighed. The look on his face showed ultimate fear. There was something outside that he did not approve of, or worse–he was scared of, and Dro rarely ever got scared. This scared Alta even more.

“I am sorry, my love. My home has welcomed you, not my people. I fear they think that your people have captured me. If I show my face then they would believe me to say that a war should be started.”

Alta moved graciously to his arms. The scent of smoke wafted up into the room again and she made no movement towards the door. Dro was pushing himself up off the wooden door and made his way to her, his dark arms wrapping around her while she held him. A luscious breeze banged the shutters. With every breath that Alta took, she could feel the world moving slower and slower.

She turned her head to the door. “We should leave, my love.”

Moving from Dro’s warm arms, she exited the room and down the earthquake-y stairs to the eccentric living room. Chairs lined the walls and a firm table sat in the center of the room. Two bay windows were on opposite sides of the room as a decorative fireplace and bookcase lined the wall to the right of her.

Dro snuck up behind her with a catlike prancing.
________________________________________________________________

Translations:

“mornie ele” = dark elf

“Neh, neh. Uum n’ mart! Uum n’ mart!” = “No, no. Do not happen!”

Revision Tips

In a traditional workshop, the author reads his or her work, then the listener responds to the work with verbal feedback. The author takes notes.  When I am the author, I like to give my workshop partner a typed copy of my piece. I prefer to read it aloud to them while they read along.  When I read aloud, I hear my own mistake, and I hear ways I could improve the piece.  After I have done this and made revisions, I am ready to workshop it by reading it aloud to a large group.