Short Story Chapter 1

"Y/N are you sure you aren't hungry?" Daesung asked, concern lacing his unusually soft voice. Buried beneath the heavy duvet of the guest bedroom in his apartment, you nodded your head; rustling the blankets with your movements. You could feel his gaze burning through the blanket consequently, making you feel guilty. You would eat but it had suddenly become difficult to keep the food down, throwing it up minutes after consuming it.

“I have no meetings today, I’m dressed down. What. Do. You. Want?” Waverly got to the point. He grinned at her.

What she saw made her breath come faster and her pulse race – two Saxons blocked her way. As evidenced by the sigil on their light gray capes, a black raven in flight, they were affiliated with Morgane. The men marched forth and stopped right in front of her.

Moira stirred the fire, putting on another small log. She poured more kala for their guests as she spoke. “A sorrowful wind blew out of the highlands of Rhoaddyn not a ten-day after you rode out into that wicked neberil

Proserpina followed the elderly servant up a set of stair. The stairway was dark, but for the light from the glow of the diamond in the walls. The glow made shadows that followed

How strange he must have looked, calling to her through the crowd. Lena couldn't help but laugh at his foolishness. He seemed to not care that he was the only one that wasn't silently judging her, and now him. It felt nice to have him so carefree about associating with her. Nice to have someone who wasn't constantly on eggshells around her. She called out what she wanted, the typical things for a typical hot dog; ketchup, mustard and onion. There was something about hot dogs that gave her that 'at home' feeling, as though returning from a long day's play outside to your dad barbecuing that simple all American meal. Lena had only experienced that a handful of time though, and yet it still had meaning.

"Her name's Lightning, weird name I know, and she's got attitude. Wouldn't tell me where she was from anything, all she said was 'fighting's the only thing I know'. She's probably from Rome or something, they've got a bunch of weirdos." He etched something into a fresh stone tablet. "Which reminds me, where are you from, Xion?"

Andromeda sat on her bed combing her hair. She looked outside to see three men in chain mail armor. She looks towards the men and realized they were not palace guards as they didn't have the red capes. She listened in, being curious as she always had been.

The odor of the meal was as delectable as the food itself. It consumed the original scent of the house and warmed up the entire room. This same maid set the table and placed the utensils in place and meekly left the room.

Silence took hold as the food for their meal arrived. The variety was great, although the amount was not as frivolous as the opening banquet. Alayna was thankful to see a much more normal amount of food. Once the women’s plates were filled and served accordingly, Elia’s attendants were dismissed so that the friend could enjoy the meal more privately. However, not much was said between the women as they consumed the food.

''I don’t get it.'' Firmly said Barry after a long silence, feeling his strength slowly, but surely, coming back to him, finally regaining the ability to sit straight on the rock wall behind him. ''What are we doing here?''

From the moment her eyes blinked to an open, she knew it was a dream.

“Fine.” Mithian made space on the couch beside her, and Gwen sat close. “We finished cleaning up, then we hung around in his kitchen sipping eggnog. Leon put a tiny splash of rum in there, and it was so good. It was a perfect moment, with the candles, the Christmas music, and him, all gorgeous and grinning like he’d won the world’s best prize by having me there. Then, to make it even more perfect, he told me he loved me.”

The blue bowl stood there, seemingly full forever, no matter how deeply or rapaciously we dipped, as if it had no bottom. And she dipped up soup. Dipped up lima beans. Dipped up stew. Forked out potatoes. Spooned out rice and peas and corn. And in the light and warmth that was Her, we dined.

‘and why can’t you help it?’ ‘Because,’ said the hunger artist, lifting his head a little and speaking, with his lips pursed, as if for a kiss, right into the overseer’s ear, so that no syllable might be lost, ‘because I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else.’ (8)