Murder Mystery in ThunderClan
Main Cabin Daily

Written by Wari
527 words

SPOILER WARNING
The following passage contains spoilers for Warriors: The Prophecies Begin

We all thought we knew who killed Redtail. None of us had a doubt in the senior warrior’s story. At least, anyone who did suspect something kept it buried deep below a façade of admiration. That’s why the revelation was so shocking to me, and why he knew we had to investigate more. ThunderClan would never accept the findings without proof.

But let me take a few pawsteps back. The cat responsible for solving this case was Firestar, who we now know as the leader of ThunderClan. At the time, however, we simply knew him as Firepaw, the kittypet-turned-apprentice. Maybe his unusual roots, and his distance from a Clanborn cat’s blind trust and loyalty, made him the perfect cat to solve the crime.

It all started one fateful night at a full-moon Gathering…

Ravenpaw seemed to have gotten over his usual shyness as he told the story, regaling the group of apprentice with the details of the battle with RiverClan only a couple moons ago. Firepaw and I were listening to the tale, when Firepaw caught onto something that didn’t fit.

“Redtail killed Oakheart?” he hissed to me, seeming troubled. “Then who killed Redtail?”

I barely caught on to his words; I was paying more attention to the story, assuming that Firepaw had probably misheard something. But that first clue would come back to haunt us later.

The day that Frostfur’s kits were stolen, I thought we were on a simple mission to find Yellowfang. Trust Firepaw to be handling more than one mystery at once. But it turns out that Firepaw had already figured everything out, and had discovered that Tigerclaw had killed Redtail, and that he was going to go after Ravenpaw next.

But we didn’t have much time to decide what to do next. After we hid Ravenpaw with Barley, we found Yellowfang, and joined a ThunderClan patrol to drive Brokenstar out and get the kits back. That evening, we became warriors, and the thrill of the ceremony and vigil chased away the groundbreaking discoveries Firepaw and Ravenpaw had told me.

But Fireheart, now a warrior, remained committed to the case, determined to reveal the danger that our new deputy posed to the Clan. But Bluestar wouldn’t believe him without proof. She refused to acknowledge that Redtail would break the warrior code to kill Oakheart, and chalked the tale up to Ravenpaw’s overactive imagination. So we had to dig deeper.

Fireheart and I returned to meet Ravenpaw again, to try to find out more about what he knew. And he told us that Redtail hadn’t killed Oakheart. During the battle, a stone overhang collapsed over the RiverClan deputy, a sheer accident.

This proved that the story had merit, and gave us something to take back to Bluestar. Redtail hadn’t broken the warrior code, and we now had better proof that Tigerclaw was not to be trusted.

But before telling Bluestar our new findings, Firepaw decided to follow up on another strange thing that we had heard. Oakheart had protected the RiverClan warrior Stonefur from ThunderClan attackers. This sent the flame-colored investigator head over paws in another mystery. But that’s a story for next time…

3/10/21
503 words
I’m blanking on every piece of writing I’ve ever admired, so I chose Peter Pan. Genre is romance. Didn’t turn out super romantic, because I like the idea of soft, childish crushes. Besides, I think that’s what fits the characters best

There’s a boy crying on the nursery floor.

Wendy hasn’t the slightest clue how he got inside, nor what he’s doing here. But he’s crying, and it simply isn’t right to let someone cry when you may have the means to help them.

Fumbling on the lamp on the nightstand, Wendy asks, “Boy, why are you crying?”

Tear-stained eyes widen through a mop of unruly red hair. The boy hurriedly wipes a few droplets away and insists, “I wasn’t crying! I never cry.”

Wendy would beg to differ, but that isn’t very polite. Besides, boys could be stubborn about that. John has proved that to her time and time again.

“Okay, well, why are you upset? Perhaps I can help.”

The boy squints at her before holding up a black, squirming object. “My shadow. It won’t stick on.”

“Let me see.” Wendy throws away the covers, shivering a little as the delicious warmth trickles away. Tiptoeing over to kneel by the boy, she observes the thrashing shadow.

“I think I could sew it right back on,” Wendy determines, jumping up to get her sewing kit. Within moments, the shadow is fastened back on to the boy, right where it should be.

His eyes crinkle in delight, and a grin sweet as daisies brightens his face. “You’ve fixed it! You fixed my shadow! Oh, you’re a marvelous at sewing. It feels good as new!”

A little startled at such praise over something so simple, Wendy blushes. “It wasn’t a problem, really. But, now, I must ask. Who are you?”

“Who, me? Why, don’t you know? I’m Peter Pan!”

To prove his point, he hops up into the air and flits around the room. Wendy gasps at the sight, and she scrambles to her feet. “You’re really Peter Pan?”

“Of course!”

“Oh, I knew you were real. I knew it! Father said over and over that you weren’t, but you’re quite real, aren’t you?”

“More real than the hairs on your head,” he confirms, drifting to the ground again. Without warning, he grabs her hands and tugs her to the ground. The hold on her hands stays, tight enough to be grounding, but still soft and gentle.

“Now, you must tell me how the story ends.”

Wendy tilts her head. “What story? Yours?”

“No! The one about the lady and the slipper.”

“Oh! You mean Cinderella?”

Peter nods eagerly. “Yes, that one.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you how it ends?”

Suddenly the boy wilts, and Wendy feels terrible for being the cause of it.

“No. I don’t have a mother.”

“That’s terrible!” Wendy exclaims, because it truly is. “No mother? Why, that must be the worst thing of all!”

Peter shrugs. “Yeah. But, it’s okay! Because you can tell me how all the stories end, right?”

Wendy nods immediately. Everyone needs a mother, and if Peter has no one else, than she’ll tell him all the stories in the world.

Besides. It will be nice to spend some more time with the sweet-eyed boy.

Reserved for the Daily, but I have no ideas on a story I want to change.

If anyone has ideas, my profile is always open.

March 10, 2022

Word count: 757

Week 1; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Weekly Part 4:

(Late doesn't count, eh just wanted to post anyways :P)

(340 words)
Contemporary, or modern dance, didn’t really start at a specific point in time or was it necessarily created by a specific person. It was created mostly by dancers who didn’t want to stay within the ballet and lyrical dance types. But there are key members who contributed to it and it really started during the 20th century. Merce Cunningham was a big contributor and developed the key techniques to contemporary dance, by trying to connect dance and music.
Dancers who wanted to go out of the traditional style of dance were part of who started contemporary dance. It became a dance unlike others during that time, very loose and free to adjust with your own preferences. Dancers began to dance more freely, and express what they wanted through their dances.
Contemporary dance is not limited to many rules, but each dancer can interpret it in their own way. It is a mix of a couple of different genres, jazz, lyrical, and ballet. Some dancers may choose to focus on more ballet-type leg work or more on improvisations. Contemporary dances are usually performed barefooted so that there is a better flow and cohesiveness to the dance.
Contemporary dances are focused more on versatility and improvisation, which is very different from the strict methods of ballet. Contemporary dancers usually focus on the footwork of their dances, one reason why they are often barefoot. It is a dance that is expressive, creative, and fluid.
The dance is derived from many dances, mostly western, ballet, lyrical, and jazz. There is also some influence from international dances. Some cultural dances that have some part in making contemporary dance what it is include Africa, Japan, folk dances, and Indonesia. Even yoga takes part in what we call contemporary dance today.
Not just the dance, but even the music is diverse, depending on what the choreographer and dancer want. Something special about contemporary dance is that it does not have to be in sync to the dance. Usually simple music is used for contemporary dances. Most choreographers


(417 words)
I shook my head, trying to concentrate. My brother had been tapping his fingers on the table and I was just so sick of it.
“Can you please stop it?” I asked for what seemed like the millionth time that day.
He sighed and gave me a look of annoyance, as if I had done something absolutely terrible, “Why?” He asked, challenging me.
“I’m working on this quiz and I can’t concentrate if you keep tapping your fingers!” I sigh, looking back at the quiz. It was a science quiz, fairly simple. I was in the living room of our house, connected on a video call with my class. I was in an online class and my brother had his desk right across from mine. As I struggle to figure out the answer to the next question, my brother finally stops. I feel relieved and try my best to finish the rest of the quiz correctly. When I submit it, I wait for the white screen to load my score. The quiz consisted of multiple choice questions and I knew I would get my correct score right away.
‘35/35’ it read, and I smiled. Being done with the only assignment for the day, I was allowed to look on Scratch. Posting a few comments, I soon found myself in a battle of words with Luna. We were arguing about what was more important, sleep or SWC. I smiled as I told her that I meant being in bed early enough to be up at 6, not stay up until 6! She was so eager to make it seem like I was all for sleep. In the same way I was ready to make it seem like she preferred sleep over SWC. After some time, I tried not to laugh as I saw that I had won in a way. I had gotten her to say sleep > SWC without her even knowing it. We had filled the comment thread limit and Luna came around to my profile. She still hadn’t realized what she had said until her next comment. I laughed as she posted a couple comments at once, knowing her mistake. Immediately she blamed it on her class.
My brother looked at me strangely, knowing that I probably wasn’t laughing because of my science test. I shared a look with him and tried to contain my smile. I heard my sister in the other room, getting off of her class, as my video call also ended.

Wari’s Journal
March 10th

Maybe it’s just my imagination, but it sure seems like these journal entries are helping me get helmet shards. I found two more after I wrote the last one.

It seemed like only chance brought me to those two fragments, but I’m not about to complain. And since I need interesting events to fill up this journal (and maybe get more shards), I’ll describe what happened yesterday.

I was alone in the forest, heading back to camp with a basket of freshly picked nuts and berries for our dinner tonight. Suddenly, loud rustling came from the trees nearby. It paused for a moment, then grew fainter. Whatever was causing the noise, it was heading away from me.

When I couldn’t hear anything anymore, I went cautiously toward the place where I had seen the bushes move. There, I saw the telltale markings of… something. Too neat to be one of the larger wild animals that prowl the forest, and too large to be a fox or rabbit.

Something was amiss. I followed the tracks, intrigued. The trail led me to a part of the woods I had never explored before, and ended abruptly as it passed a thorn thicket. I was about to give up and turn back when a quiet bubbling caught my ears.

A little bit farther, in a quiet clearing, worn stone ruins came into view. It seemed to be the remains of an abandoned encampment. But in the center of the glade, a small fountain gurgled. As I approached, I noticed that it seemed to be in much better condition than the rest of the ruins.

As I observed the fountain, a flash of gold caught my eye from underneath the flowing water. I took a closer look, and there they were.

A pair of the golden shards that we so desperately needed.

That evening, the meal at the encampment felt more nourishing than it had for days. My pouch of shards was a little bit heavier, and I now had just enough to make our first key.

Loyal to the last,

Wari
The Warriors’ Battalion
354 words

March 10, 2022

Word count: 238

Word war with Peach

Prompt: ‘Come on, you can trust me’

5 minutes

“Come on, you can trust me” I say, typing to pry it out of her. She’s been so uptight lately, I can see that she’s holding something in. And that’s never a good sign. Ella keeps too much bottled in, it’s really not good for her.
She shakes her head. “No, I told you, I can’t tell you!” she responds, stubbornly.
I sigh. We weren’t going to get much during this conversation. “What is it about, can you at least tell me that? Like, is it the situation with your mom or-”
Her eyes widen. “No, anything but that, please no.”
I look at her, shaking. There was obviously something going on with her. From what I know, she isn’t treated teh best by her mother. Then again, I’ve only known her for a short while. “Come on, Ella.” I repeat, “If you can’t trust me, who can yo utrust?”
“I-” she says hesitantly and goes back to curl up.
“WHat is it? Please, Ella.” I say, furrowing my brows. This was just so- ugh I don’t want to say infuriating because I genuinely like Ella, but this is frustrating. I’m used to being open, and that is not what Ella is.
She looks as if she’s pondering over something. “I- I-” she starts, “It’s not my place to say.”
I want to ask more, btu refrain as I see her face. She looked as if she could

Daily for Sci-Fi

Harry Potter as a mystery

523 words

The room was dark. It was nearly midnight after all, but something strange was going on. The room was a small one, containing only a bed, a small table, a suitcase, and, for some reason, what appeared to be a bird cage. Inside this cage, there often was an owl, hooting forlornly out into the night, as if haunted by some great sadness. But on this night the cage was abandoned, empty. If you were to look closer, at the details of the room, you would see scars. The frame of the window, all scratched up as if scraped by metal. A gaping hole in the door, which appeared to be lockable from the outside, as if this room had been used as a prison. But most strange of all was the sight you would find on the bed. The sheets were held up as if they were a tent, and from underneath them, a soft glow was being emitted. For under the sheets lay a teenage boy, reading a large textbook by the light of a dim flashlight. You wouldn't have known it though if it weren't for the gentle moving up and down, back and forth, of the flashlight beam. They boy was being strangely, almost eerily, silent, not moving, rustling, or voicing his thoughts even once. If you had been there, and if you had been able to read the boy's thoughts, two words would have been cycling through his mind. Witch hunting, witch hunting, witch hunting…
Finally, almost suddenly, there was a sound. A repetitive sort of scratching noise, as if someone was gently scraping a rough surface. The noise paused quite frequently, but always began again after a few seconds. Some people would have been able to place it as the sound of a quill being written with, and that's exactly what it was. The boy in the sheets was writing. With a quill. He'd only seldom used a pen or pencil for the past three years in fact. But when he wrote with a quill he had to be careful to remain hidden from the careful observations of his family, who were cruel people. They had even forbade him from studying, to the point where they stole his textbooks. Only for him to steal them back of course. His family did have good reasons for what they did, in their minds at least. Strange happenings did seem to follow this boy wherever he went. Animals spoke. Fights broke out. Glasses shattered. Shouts rang out. The boy knew why of course, but most people didn't. It was best that it stayed that way.
After a while, the boy carefully and quietly stood up, making his way over to the window and looking out over the dark street. He stood there for a while, leaning on the windowsill and letting the cool late summer night are wash over him, just thinking. He ran his hand through his messy hair, his fingers brushing over a mysterious scar. This scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning and always glaring red, was by far the strangest element of this whole bizarre situation.

this was my failed weekly xD

poems

haikus

the wind brushing through,
i'm within as tendrils sweep,
swirling in the eye.

overwhelming sights.
cacophonous, but silent.
full saturation.

through the tainted glass,
grey skies tinged with brown and blue.
crying their dismay.

up too far to reach,
still, i tried to touch the hights,
did! but they weren't there…

ungloved hand outside,
shivering, shrouded in ice,
i prefer it here.

(ok wow i got carried away lol)

limericks

the escalator when you're young,
is just an excuse for some fun,
as you climb up the down,
and you fall, hit your crown,
but it's worth running up the down one!

there once was a person quite strange,
not mentioned- was thought deranged,
but was actually nice,
must pay his family's price,
all the people's opinions then changed!

pantoum

All of the world around,
Opinions, valued greatly.
Approval, never found,
Everyone seems to hate me.

Opinions, valued greatly,
A cycle of denial.
Everyone seems to hate me,
The shadow of the stile.

A cycle of denial,
Acceptance flees away.
The shadow of the stile,
Esteem can't seem to stay.

Acceptance flees away,
You must try to remain.
Esteem can't seem to stay,
As you must make the claim.

You shall try to remain,
With all the world around.
As you must make the claim,
Approval shall be found.

(ok i like that one lol =p)

acrostic

mystery, why at all?
only certain.
or not at all, when too bright,
not enough love,
danger transformed them.
righteousness mandated.
oppressed by perfection,
perhaps it will be you who sets them free?

free verse

the pull of the handle.
o! to see that bright light again,
artificial and conservative,
preserving my greatest luxury.
but no, I must refrain! or I shall be discovered…

but the crisp snap,
the sharp taste,
the whole nuttiness,
the slight bitterness,
the overwhelming sweet tang,
it calls me! it beckons me!
but no, i must resist.

i step closer,
no, i mustn't.
i reach out,
but i shan't!
i pull,
o, why did i?
i reach-
i take-
i unwrap-
i bite-

and it washed over me.

i shouldn't have.
but i have!
and i can't regret it.

Name: Iona Marshall (that’s iona not Lona btw)
Age: 23
Species: Not-quite-human-but-humanoid
Personality and traits: Iona hates other people. She has very good hearing (cybernetically modified) so she picks up on a lot of gossip, which she uses to start nasty rumors about people she doesn’t like. She is naturally athletic but has modified that as well, making her an unnaturally fast runner. Because of the athletic implants, she can also jump higher and survive extreme temperatures. She also has higher stamina levels than normal humans. Iona has a sharp tongue and a sharper wit, and is quick to jump to conclusions. When attacked, she gets very defensive and will lash out (verbally and physically) at those near her, even if they didn’t do anything to her. Iona lives in a cave and watches anime in her spare time. However, she doesn’t like having spare time because it means she’s alone with her thoughts. If she’s not busy doing something, she’ll find something to do, productive or not-so-productive. She generally puts low effort into her work products because she doesn’t want people to have high expectations of her. When she does put work into something, she will get defensive and hide whatever it is she did. Iona is very tall and skinny. She has stringy blond hair and pale skin that is green-tinged. Everything about her is angular and pointy; also, her ears look a bit like elves’ ears and her lips are dark green. Her eyes are cold and gray. She cybernetically modifies herself (as stated before) to improve her senses, intelligence, and abilities.
Wants, hopes, and strengths: Iona is very shrewd and will manipulate any situation to her advantage. If her goal is to drive all other people away, she sure is good at it. Iona wants to have control over things that could affect her, but also likes having a certain aspect of life be unpredictable. She wants to be on top of the pyramid so she can exploit the emotional weaknesses of others. Outwardly, she wants to appear cold and emotionless; however, the inside is another story. Iona desperately wants someone she can love and trust, but is too scared of her own feelings to admit it. When she puts her whole self into something, Iona is a hard worker. She’s not scared of much, so there’s almost nothing she won’t do. She’s taken a few jobs bounty hunting before and is very good at it because she doesn’t feel empathy for her targets. Because of her modifications, Iona can win pretty much anything she does (she doesn’t care that it’s sometimes by cheating). Although she doesn’t put much effort into her work most of the time, she likes to know that she can be the best. She feels better about herself when she knocks others down, and dislikes the idea of having friends - they make her think too hard about her inner self. She doesn’t like it when she doesn’t get her way, so she will play dirty to get what she wants.
Dislikes and fears: As previously stated, Iona detests other people. She thinks they are ignorant and boring and they do nothing to make her life better. But deep down, she is lonely. Her biggest fear is having someone who she lets get close to her hurt her. Because of this, she pushes other people away. It’s a subconscious fear; she doesn’t self-reflect enough to know she’s doing it to herself. Iona can be a perfectionist, but not on things she’s doing for other people. She is afraid of failure. She’s harsh on herself sometimes because she thinks it will make her work harder. She is afraid of other people figuring it out and trying to help her, so she puts on an air of not caring. Iona doesn’t really have any fears that she’s aware of. Her true fears are buried deep down, so much that her conscious doesn’t know they’re there. She has no outerfears; she thinks they’ll hold her back. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do, no matter how reckless, immoral, or dangerous. She doesn’t like losing (unless it’s on her terms), which is another reason she cybernetically modified herself. Those implants also helped make her braver. Iona doesn’t like having spare time, because it makes her think about herself too deeply. If she’s not busy, she’ll find something to do. Often it’s a waste of her time, but it’s better than sitting around thinking.

10th March- Main Cabin Daily

I rewrote a children’s book into dystopian genre (Don’t hate against the genre, I find it difficult to write so it might not be too clear that I am writing in this genre )

It was a windy day for the four butterfly friends in the Butterfly Meadow. They we namely, Dazzle, Skipper, Twinkle and Mallow. These four innocent butterflies were completely oblivious to what the day ahead was to bring them.
They fluttered their beautiful wings and sailed along in the breeze. They laughed and played in the chilling wind. After a while, they suddenly noticed something strange and unusual beneath them. Large, white, furry, and cute-looking creatures hopped on the dewdrop covered grass.
Dazzle curiously swooped down to the bunnies. She sat on one of the bunny’s nose who let out a huge sneeze sending Dazzle up in the air. The bunnies wanted to play with her but her friends were waiting for her so she said her farewells to the bunnies and raced to catch up with her friends.
She found her friends dodging sycamore seeds which fell from trees at a deadly speed. To make their way in the Butterfly Meadow, they had dodge these seeds. Skipper, in particular, was really skilled at it.
Just then, a strong gust of wind blew though the meadow showering many seeds from the trees. The butterflies, luckily, dodged and dived just in time to avoid them. As Dazzle regained her balance, she gazed around to find that she could see her friends anywhere. She started feeling nervous but then she spotted Skipper looking at something really intently.
Dazzle flew over to Skipper and realized why she was gazing at a, what looked like, a piece of dead leaf. It was a cocoon!
Another gust of wind blew, making the cocoon sway back and forth, making the fragile branch which was holding the cocoon almost break.
A storm staffing brewing nearby. It started to grow dark in the silent meadow. The butterflies noticed the cocoon had started twitching. Could it be that the butterfly inside was ready to come out?
By now, dark, grey clouds were rolling across the sky, blocking the sun. A dazzling white flash with a loud cracking sound made the four friends jump with shock. They could all feel that a thunderstorm was coming.
All the animals and insects in the Meadow and started taking shelter before it started raining and as for the butterflies, it would be dangerous if their wings were to get wet.
The wind whipped through the forest, making trees groan and bend. It wasn’t like anything Dazzle or her friends had seen before. She trembled from head to toe with the thought of being blown away by the wind.
Another fierce gust of wind tore through the trees. The cocoon was knocked away when a large leaf bumped into it. The four butterflies tried to follow the cocoon deep into the forest but the wind was too strung for them.
SuddenlyX the wind dipped. The butterflies took this opportunity to try to push the cocoon to a safer place where the butterfly could hatch safely yet the cocoon was too heavy for them to push. All hope seemed lost for the butterflies.

507 words

March 10 daily
589 words
Unfinished rewrite of part of “Who Could That Be At This Hour” by Lemony Snicket, in the form of step by step instructions.

How (Not) to Conduct an Investigation

Step 1. Drive to the location where you are meeting your client.
Step 2. Lecture your apprentice, and put him on probation.
Step 3. Ring the doorbell 6 times.
Step 4. Be led inside by the butler. Don’t worry about paying attention to the butler, or the hallway he is leading you down.
Step 5. Scold your apprentice for not being proper.
Step 6. Wait for your client.
Step 7. Introduce yourself, and tell your client that you were told she was a man.
Step 8. If your apprentice talks, glare at him.
Step 9. When asked what the S stands for, explain that standing next to you is your apprentice.
Step 10. Listen while your client explains that a priceless item has been stolen from her home, and that she needs to get it back.
Step 11. Interrupt her by saying that first you would need to know what the item is, when she was just about to tell you.
Step 12. Do not doubt anything your client tells you. Trust her completely.
Step 12. Ask her when the item was stolen. Listen to her explain about the statue.
Step 14. Check the windows. If the windows are latched, consider the ceiling.
Step 15. Point out that just because your client knows who stole it doesn’t necessarily mean the thief didn’t come in through the ceiling. Do not think to ask who stole it. Your apprentice might ask for you, even though you told him to be quiet.
Step 16. Continue to trust everything the client says. Do not be suspicious of her.
Step 17. Quickly agree to your client’s terms. Treat a promise like an insect in your face.
Step 18. Lecture your apprentice, and remind him that he is just your apprentice. Ignore that he has a point, that you still don’t know what the statue is of.
Step 19. Let your client answer your apprentice’s question.
Step 20. Tell your client that she will be hearing from you and your apprentice, and let yourselves out.
Step 21. Drive to the lighthouse of the people your client says stole her statue.
Step 22. While in the roadster, say that this will be an easy case. Lecture your apprentice on how it isn’t important why the client didn’t call the police.
Step 23. Tell him that what is important is figuring out how the Mallahans broke in through the ceiling. If he says that you don’t know that they broke in through the ceiling, remind him that the windows were latched. Do not consider the door you entered through.
Step 24. Explain to your apprentice that you’re going to have to use a con, and that a con is a word which here means a bit of trickery.
Step 25. Tell your apprentice not to say anything at all.
Step 26. Ring the doorbell 6 times.
Step 27. When your apprentice starts to ask something, remind him that you said don’t say anything.
Step 28. When the thief answers the door, tell him your very convincing cover story. A good example of a very convincing cover story is, “I’m a young woman and this is my husband and we’reon our honeymoon and we’re both crazy about lighthouses.” Do not worry about details like the fact that your “husband” is almost 13.
Step 29. Ask him if you can come in.
Step 30. Overlook his daughter. Why would she have valuable information for you?
Step 31. Say that you and him can talk while you let the children play.

And that's as far as I got. I might finish this later, we'll see.

Some old writing!

Emilia sat down, exhausted from her day in the castle. She was at work all day, cleaning, cooking, sewing, and much more. I’ll go check on Basil, she smiled in thought. She walked down the marble hall and knocked on the prince’s door.
“Basil!” She called, “It’s me!” She heard Basil’s footsteps walk towards the door. He opened the door and grinned, but Emilia could tell he wasn’t in a good mood.
“Hey,” He said plainly. He let her in and they both plopped down on the bed, “Hard day today?”
“Yeah,” Emilia replied as she shifted to face Basil, “You wouldn’t think so, but being a servant is tough.”
“I bet. You wouldn’t think that being a prince is hard. There’s a lot of work I have to put into to look proper and presentable,” He sighed and grabbed his sketchbook. “I’ve made a lot more designs that we could work on.”
Emilia jumped up and down. “Yes! I’ve been waiting all day to see what clothes you’ve thought of. Any frilly dresses?”
Basil nodded his head and brightly smiled. “For sure,” He flipped to the pages with intricate designs, “This one is the one I want to work on today.” The page he was opened to was filled with a flowy, rosey, sleek, and sophisticated dress. It was covered in flowers and a little bee was placed at the very bottom of the dress.
“Flowers! Bees!” Emilia exclaimed, looking closer, “I’d be happy to start on this tonight.”
“Yes! We could hang out in my room and work!” He replied as his spirits rose.
Emilia took a moment to gather her thoughts, “Basil…do you think that your mom and dad will be OK with you wearing dresses once they find out?”
“I don’t plan on telling them, so I don’t see a reason to worry about that,” Basil sighed, “Honestly, I don’t really care if they find out, because it’s what I’m passionate about.”
Emilia nodded and smiled again. She changed the topic back to the dress, “Do you want it to be reds and pinks?”
“Yeah! But the red would be more…pastel-y so then it goes with the yellow of the bee,”
He placed his hand on the fabric that was placed next to his bed. “I was thinking of using this silky fabric so that it’s flowy!”
“I was thinking the same thing!” She lifted up a hand for a high-five. Basil clapped his hand up in the air.
“Oh, Emilia! I got a new wig,” He walked to his closet and scavenged for the wig. Finally, he picked up a wavy, dirty blond, shoulder-length wig and put it on top of his brown and messy hair.
“Ooh! It looks nice. It will look awesome with this dress,” She said as she pointed to the paper. Basil nodded in agreement.
“When we’re finished, let’s go to a fancy party and I’ll act as Bailey.” Basil grinned. Bailey was the “girl” that he acted as whenever he went out in a dress. Nobody would accept a prince who liked to wear dresses- except Emilia. She would always support him in his decisions because as they always said it’s Basil’s passion. Emilia and Basil were like two peas in a pod. They would never break apart.
That night, they laughed, sewed, measured, and calculated. They worked all throughout the night.
“What do you call an alligator detective?” Basil smirked.
“What?” Emilia replied as she poked the needle into the fabric.
“An investi-gator,” He chuckled and went back to measuring the length of the side.
“That is so corny and bad!” Emilia stuck out her tongue but a laugh escaped her lips. They continued to work. Soon enough, it was nearly midnight. “Let’s work a bit more, I’m almost done!”
“OK, OK! But when it gets to 1 A.M., we have to stop or else my mom will get mad at me… tomorrow I’m meeting some princesses and my mom wants me to be presentable when they come.” Basil sighed, “I wish I had more freedom.”
“I do too. But I guess it’s harder for you because you have to work all day to make a good impression on the world!”
“Yeah, but you have to care for everyone who lives in this castle. That’s a big job,” Basil replied as he drew a thin line on the sheet of paper in front of him.
Emilia looked down at her hands and focused on the seam of the dress. “Will you hold this for me?” She held up the needle, “Be careful though.” She handed it to Basil and he smirked.
“I can hold a needle—I’m not a little kid,” He laughed.

Red riding hood but dystopain.
500 words

“This is a test of the emergency broadcast system. Cohort 39, please report to the Forest Biome for survival training.”
Crimson rolled out of bed reluctantly, her muscles protesting loudly. She was still sore from yesterday's survival training- they had to learn how to survive in the Ice Biome.
It's so worthless, she thought. There's no ice left anyway, aside from the Biomes. It's been that way for centuries.
Still, she pulled on her cloak from the peg by her door. The bright red fabric identified her as a member of Cohort 39, while the designs embroidered on the hood specified her name and gender. A golden rose for females, and the letter C.
Each cohort had 26 members, each with a name starting with a different letter. Every letter of the alphabet had a corresponding member. It was simple that way, and no one ever had the same name as anyone in their cohort. It made sense.
Crim, shrouded in her scarlet cloak, stepped out the door and onto the street. It was a modest neighborhood, most of the houses were wood with thatched rooves, and the road was unpaved. The government had promised to come and fix it years ago, but they had yet to fulfill that. That seemed to be the way it went nowadays- the government was constantly making promises they couldn't keep. Of course, no one could say anything about it, for fear of being silenced.
Crimson's dad was silenced a while back. According to the government official who visited their house, he had paid the rent a week late. As punishment, he had to serve a lifetime of community service at the capital. No one who went to the capital came back.

—-
Crimson stepped into the Forest Biome, her red cloak a stark contrast to the deep green around her. Each Biome was genetically engineered to mimic an ancient terrain, the types that occurred naturally before the government took over.
Crim carries a basket full of hypothetical supplies. Her mission, in order to pass this training, is to bring the basket, fully intact, to a cottage in the center of the woods.
Suddenly, she hears a sound; a deep mournful wail that cuts through the stillness around her. Hair prickles on the back of her neck as ancient survival instincts kick in.
Her mind tells her to run. Her heart tells her to run. Her gut tells her to run.
But Crimson stayed, making sure to keep her cloak pulled tight around her. This had to be another challenge, and she would stay and fight.
A figure lopes into the clearing, and Crim gasps. Dark, sinister, and covered in silver fur, the wolf pads around Crim. She stands still, unwilling to move.
“Hello, little girl. Lost in the forest?” The wolf's voice is slippery, smooth as oil, sliding down her throat. Crim gulps, fear stabbing her in the heart.
She needs to run, she needs to hide, she needs to do something- but what?

Main Cabin Daily 3/10
Topic: Re-writing in your least favorite genre
Word Count: 502
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Story I'm Re-writing: A chapter in Winter by Marissa Meyer but as Horror. (Was going to be poetry, but that just doesn't work out and I already did poetry yesterday)



Winter aimlessly listened to Aimery's speech, her thoughts droning on. Oh how cold the room was. Cold, cold, cold.

The thoughts of blackout cursed her brain, the ever gnawing insanity she held.

She caught little fragments of Aimery talking.

Fragments.

Ice.

So cold. It was all cold. She would d*e, her fingers would fall off, one by one.

Fragments of what she used to be, yes, fragments!

Frozen solid was her brain.

Her thoughts were numbing.

Her vision cleared, and finally, she caught on to the words.

“This man has been convicted of a crime. He withheld his shell daughter from the public,” Aimery was saying. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. The law must be held strictly. We don't want to collapse our society with law breakers.”

There was a silent wave of agreement within the trial room.

Aimery turned to Winter. No, he turned to Levana, who was next to Winter. Or rather, Winter was next to Levana. Even so, Winter stiffened.

The queen of Luna lay bored on her throne, as if possible d*ath was just another event in her kingdom.

“What would you like to do with him, my queen?” Aimery asked Levana, bowing his head.

“Oh, this has already been boring enough,” Levana droned. “If you want to show your enforcement, then show it.”

Aimery raised a curious eyebrow.

“In blood.”

Levana's perfect red lips curved into a cruel smile. Her eyes even flashed a brilliant red for a second, reminding the people of Luna of her dictatorship.

Winter shivered deeply. Not because of Levana, but because of the cold. The walls were turning red. The man was turning red. His eyes, bleeding. Blood poured freely from his body, filling up, drowning the room.

Winter squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears, letting out a loud scream.

She snapped back to reality to see everyone staring at her. Her heart rate quickened.

“Something wrong?” Levana asked.

“D-don't kill that man,” Winter said in a near quiet voice.

“Very well, daughter.” Levana said, motioning for Aimery to release the scared looking man who never even had a chance to plead guilty.

“You should be glad that the princess has spared you,” Aimery muttered to the main. “We'll be keeping surveillance.” In the quiet, echoy room, his hushed tone sounded like a yell. And a d*ath threat.

The blood vanished from the walls and Aimery brought in the next person for trial. But it was still, so cold.

Was Winter going insane? Of course I am, she thought to herself, a quiet giggle escaping her. But there wasn't anyone to help her. No, no one. She would be alone in her own little world with her imaginary friends because they all knew but they all didn't care. She was just Winter the innocent and the pretty. Winter, the scarred.

Winter, the alone.

A block of ice that would never thaw.

She was cold.

Oh. So. Very. Cold.

Daily for the 10th: (514 words)
I heard a voice in the dark, it sounded automated somehow. “So there we were, steely resolve washing across our faces as we faced a hundred warriors,” it started, only to be cut off by a louder, deeper one; “Strong-Strong count fifteen.”
“And you fought them all off before shutting down?” a much more childish voice.
“It was nothing, young Joseph, have I ever told you about the time I-”
“More quiet for lost girl!” shouted the deeper voice.
That brought me back to consciousness. I sighed opening my eyes to be met with a familiar rodent's nose. Chick chick, squeaked Mouse. I sat up; “You're all here!” I exclaimed, looking around at my companions.
“Thanks to you,” said Piper, leaning against a bedpost. I didn't have time to process the compliment before Joseph sat down at the edge of my bed. I felt my insides warm.
“Piper told me everything you went through to find me,” he said, smiling.
My cheeks heated. “Yeah. Well…” I started, unable to say anything more coherent, so I threw my arms around him instead.
Suddenly, a voice I didn't recognize floated from the hallway. “Master Joseph! Oh, Master Joseph!”
Joseph startled. “Oh no! It's them!” He fumbled with the covers for a few seconds before shoving them over his head. Piper gave him a bemused look.
Two cloaked Scriptorians peered in through the doorway. “Master Joseph? Are you-” one of them started; “Ah! The friend of Master Joseph is awake!” It exclaimed.
I swallowed, reminding myself that they were right. We were friends, not more. “Um. Hello.” I waved awkwardly as the lump of blanket beside me quivered slightly.
The second Scriptorian bowed slightly; “Is there anything you require? Any friend of Master Joseph is our revered and honoured guest!”
“Um…” I said, glancing at the spot where Joseph would be hiding, confused. Why were they treating him like some sort of hero? Randy was the one who'd saved us. I decided not to comment on it. “I'm fine. Maybe you should keep looking for Joseph. He could be lost in the castle!” I shrugged.
“How thoughtful! Master Joseph has the finest friends,” said one.
“We bow low!” the other declared, and they did just that.
They shuffled out, still bowing. I waited until they were out of earshot before turning to the blankets. “What was that about?”
“They want to make me king!” he exclaimed, lifting the blankets off himself. “Of their whole planet!”
“Yikes,” I said, trying not to imagine us as king and queen, sitting in large, fancy thrones as the Scriptorians bowed. Not really my style. And besides, we were only friends, I reminded myself.
“I imagine you will rule wisely,” Piper remarked, which didn't help.
“Think of it Joseph- Power, majesty!” One exclaimed; “Your enemies will prostrate before you!”
“G-gold crowns can cause a r-rash,” Robot Randy put in.
“But I don't want any of that,” Joseph cried, eyes wide. “I just want to go home.” He wrung his hands. I glanced at him fondly, I really had missed having him around.

March 10, 2022
MC Daily
~~~~~
Concept: Various different stories I can't remember, but I think mainly my friend's story.
Genre: Mystery. This isn't really mystery, but I tried lol. Mostly I don't like it cause I'm not good at writing it ;-;

“Summer,” I urged, tugging on her sleeve and pulling her aside, “can I talk to you?”

“Uh, sure Lilly,” Summer shrugged. She followed me into a solitary room. It was rather small, kind of like a janitor’s closet, and was cluttered with lots of different random appliances and supplies. “What is it?” Summer’s brow furred and wrinkled her freckles. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied up in a bun, and she picked at the flint on her navy sweater.

“Something is wrong. You know that right? Bubble Bon made it clear enough. She’s never acted like this before. There’s no way everything is okay,” I stressed, leaning forward and whispering. “We need to find out what’s going on.”

“Lilly, are you sure this is the best idea? Don’t the Bons know what’s best? I mean, I could definitely tell something was off, but we’re already in so much trouble with Calypso. I don’t want to risk getting kicked out because of your nosiness, you know?”

“Summer,” I sighed, grabbing my best friend’s hand. “I know this is really scary, but I feel like I need to trust my gut. The Bons were really on edge. It wouldn’t hurt to do a little bit of investigating, right?”

“I guess…” Summer implored, looking down at her green converse. “But we need to be out of here quickly. I think the Bons are still talking in the main meeting room. We can do some listening there, and then leave quickly. But we have to be careful. There are guards in a lot of places.”

“Great!” I exclaimed, my eyes lighting up. “Let’s go!”

With a slight creak, I opened the door, my heart pounding. It was time for some nerve racking detective work. I could feel the blood pulsing through my veins. If I was caught, I would need a really good excuse. But I didn’t have the time to think of that. Hopefully I could improvise something without Summer or my words contradicting each other.

Sure enough, a few guards were standing near the main meeting room. They were pretty relaxed. They were standing straight and tall as usual, but sometimes they would exchange a few words or stretch. The Bons were pretty lenient with their guards. Hopefully me and Summer could persuade them to leave.

“Follow me lead,” I whispered to Summer before hurrying to the guards. She had no choice but to scramble along after me. “Uh… hi,” I greeted, bowing slightly. “Okay, well… Sugar Bon um- told me to tell you guys to gather in the courtyard… for… a- meeting.” I took in a deep breath. It probably would have been a better idea to think of something to say before I say it, but it was too late now.

“Are you sure?” one of the guards questioned. “We’re not supposed to take indirect orders from anyone.”

“Yep,” I nodded. The guard narrowed his eyes, skeptical. A shiver withered through my body. Was I going to be found out. I could feel my throat starting to lump up.

“Hey,” Summer interjected, saving me with her quick brain, “how about you go check the courtyard to make sure, and we stand here with the rest of the guards to take your place?”

“I suppose,” the guard considered, tilting his head. “But the other guards are in charge, so listen to them.”

“Yes sir,” Summer replied, bowing. As soon as the guard left, Summer grabbed my arm and pulled me close to the door. “Stand as close as you can and listen,” she muttered quietly. I nodded in reply. I heard Bubble’s voice.

“-she’s really back, what are we going to do? Our whole kingdom could be on the verge of destruction.”

“We just need to calm down and act strategically. I’ll handle this first. We needn’t give everyone a fright,” came the strong voice of Sugar.

“But Lilliana and Summer-”

“Leave them out of this, Bubble,” Sugar interjected. “Look, let’s just take a break for now. We can discuss this later.” I heard the moving of chairs as the Bons got up to leave. Looking at Summer with urgency, I grabbed her hand quickly and ushered away, ignoring the calls of the guards and complaints of my best friend. Why did me and Summer get mentioned during the meeting? What was Bubble talking about? And most importantly, what did this all mean?
(732 words)
~~~~~
Woah, I've been on a break for a while, so it was kind of hard to find motivation to write this! I'm really glad I did though. Now that my exam is over, I'm planning on writing more. I feel like I always write a lot more than I plan to xD Anyway, I'm gonna eat dinner soon so I gotta go!

Some writing! It's in a diary format.
Exactly 900 words


December 31, 1999
Salutations. As you know, it’s almost 2000! It’s 11:30 and I’m talking to Althea. We were talking about how it was almost 2000 and if the world really was going to end. I think we have that theory mixed up, but I don’t feel like seeing what it actually is.
11:50
2000 is getting even closer, only ten minutes! Me and Althea are saying how we are going to spend the last 10 minutes of 1999. I said that I am going to re-watch my favorite scene from Tarzan, not that it has anything to do with anything.
11:59
My mother just yelled at me to get downstairs. The countdown is about to start! Let’s go! I’m slightly worried though.
12:46
Nothing happened. Maybe it’s later in the year? Anyhow, it's 2000 now! There were fireworks going off behind a skyscraper and we drank sparkling water. Mmm! Well, I'm off to bed. Good Night!

January 1, 2000
I just woke up like 5 minutes ago. I looked around my room, but it doesn't look anything like my room. The only thing similar to my room was the shape and size. But the walls were blue instead of pink and my mom definitely did not paint the entire room while I was sleeping. There’s also a clean floor (well not entirely clean, but cleaner then my normal one). No clothes pile, no random books or blankets on the ground, and no garbage either. Not only the cleanness of the room but I saw a child. A LITERAL BREATHING CHILD! They were staring right at me and then ran out of the room and screamed. I can hear someone walking up the stairs so I got to write real quick- not to mention that this child also looked a bit like me.
Sometime later
I’m currently in the bathroom. Not to use it but to write this. Basically, I was too shocked to get out of the bed and eventually a woman walked in. She stared at me in disbelief. She walked over to me and in a worried, confused, mad, and stern but still gentle voice asked, “How did you get in here?” I couldn’t speak. It was like my lips were glued to each other. “Okay then. Can you at least tell me your name?”
“O-O-Olivia”
“Olivia?”
I nodded. The lady sits on the end of the bed and sighs. “I remember this day.” she said under her breath. I was very confused. Then I asked if I could use the bathroom. Now I’m here. Wondering what to do.
3:30
Some updates- the lady came back and asked me if I wanted to eat. As I walked down the stairs I heard people talking. It sounded like an old woman and a 6 or 7 year old child.. The house structure looked exactly like my house, but there was furniture that I’ve never seen before. Some of the walls were also different colors. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the child and the old lady stared at me. She asked the lady who was walking with me who I was and she replied that I was- I’m not quite sure what she said. I was blanked out. But whatever she said made the grandma (Well I’m assuming she’s a grandma) invite me over to the table. She asked me, “What year is it?” I was shocked. How could she have not known the year?! It just changed!
“Didn’t it just turn 2000?” I asked. I think the woman noticed my confusion because she waved it off. She asked me if I wanted any food and that her husband just made pastries. They look like the ones my dad would make. Mini cinnamon rolls that were soft but flaky, in heart shapes, and had homemade glaze on the top. Of course I said yes. They were delicious.

January 2, 2000?
I feel really welcomed by the adults, but the children are a different story. Every time I walked by one of them (there are 4) they would stare at me. Like, little child death glare. There is one child though that is very energetic and forces me to play dress up. It gets quite annoying. Anyhow, I just woke up and I’m starving. I’m going to grab some food.
9:12
Mmm! The old woman’s husband made us some waffles. They were great! There was one thing I noticed but forgot to write down though. This house didn’t have a telephone. Instead, on the counter were these rectangles-box things. Kind of like a tv, but miniature. There were 2 of them. One big and the other small. They were both connected to this cable that was connected to a box that was connected to a power outlet. It was very strange. I asked what they were and one the lady said (who I learned was also named Olivia) that the small one was called a cell phone and the large one was called an iPad. I’ve never seen anything like these before.
10:34
I went back to the question of, “What year is it?” and asked it too Olivia #2. She said that it was 20 something, hesitating on the “something”. Which didn’t surprise me much as it had just turned to the 21st century. Eventually she said, “The year is 2018. 18 years in the future.”

To be continued…

3/10 Daily | 614 Words
Based off of The Tell Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe, tried to do romance :")

The Tell Tale Heart

True! Nervous, I am very nervous, but why would you say I’m insane? The disease only sharpened my senses. The best was my sense of hearing. I hear everything, in the heavens and the earth. I hear things in hell. Why- how- would you say I am mad? Look, I will show you- look how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you this story.

I don’t remember how the idea got into my head; but once it did, it would never leave. I loved the woman. She had never wronged me. She had never insulted me. I didn’t care about her money, but her eyes! Yes, her eyes! Her eyes were a pale blue, that shone in even the darkest rooms- but whenever she looked at me, the shine left. I would notice her look at others, other men, and the shine was there! And not for me! And so eventually, I decided to take her eyes, so I could have them and for me and for me only.

I know what you’re thinking. You think that I’m mad. Madmen know nothing. You should see me, how wisely I came up with the idea- how cautiously- how cunningly- how much care I put into this! I was never more loving to the woman than the week before I took her eyes. Give her some time to consider loving me, to give her another option than by force. And every night, when the moon was high, I would sneak to her house and open the door- I would open the door so quietly! And once I had opened it enough to push my head through, I would sneak in a flashlight, turned off, so that no light would show, and then I would stick my head in. You would have found it funny how sneakily I stuck my head in! I moved it very, very, slowly, so it would take me an entire hour to stick my head in the door. Do you really think someone who was insane would have been as smart as to do this? And then, when my head was in the room, I would slowly- very slowly! Turn on the flashlight (you could dim it), just enough to see her face. Every night, for seven nights I did this, but her eyes were always closed, and I didn’t want to take from the woman, I only wanted her Unloving Eyes. And every morning I would stop by her house, speaking lovingly to her, giving her a chance to love me, pleading, please love me, please give me your eyes, how was your night? It would have been insane for her to think that I snuck into her home every night to watch her sleep.

I was more cautious than usual on the eighth night. The clock in her room moved more quickly than I did. That night, that night I never felt more powerful, more intelligent, more jubilant. The fact that I was there, opening the door, and that she did not even suspect I was there, made me chuckle. And I think she heard me, because she moved on the bed suddenly, as if she was startled. I did not want to startle her, but I did not retreat, for the room was pitch black, and she would not see me. So I continued opening the door, slowly, steadily.

I had my head in, and shakily picked up the flashlight from my pocket, but I shook too much, and it fell. I could feel her tense in her sheets, not moving, not making a sound, and I did not make a sound, because I did not want to startle her, I did not want to upset her, I only wanted her eyes.

I didn’t get to finish because my computer died here ;;

DAILY March 10, 2022
Genre: Non-Fiction; a horror of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”
Word Count: 529
TOC: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/582424/?page=31#post-6087486

Prompt:
As writers, we often read works by other people and think, “That's a cool concept, I wish I had thought to write about it!” Today, pick an excerpt or short story you like written by someone else—comics, fanfics, and stories written by other campers count too—and rewrite it. However, there's a twist! Your rewrite has to be done in your least favorite genre. Write at least 500 words for 700 points. If you share your writing you'll earn 200 more points!

————————————————————————————————————————————————-
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
I looked up at the night sky from my balcony. It was a beautiful night; there was no moon, but that didn’t matter. There were stars. Many and many of them.

Oh, and how the stars twinkled, like the twinkling of eyes.

How I wonder what you are
“What are you, exactly, shining so brightly in the darkness of the night?” I sighed softly, crossing my arms in front of me and resting my chin on it.

Up above the world so high
I suddenly saw two of the stars kind of sway slowly, high above in the sky.

Like a diamond in the sky
They were twinkling irregularly, but I thought it looked beautiful. I couldn’t help but think they were like tiny diamonds, sparkling, and showing off their priceless beauty, that of which I got entranced by.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star
However, I slowly got a feeling that someone, or something, had its eyes on me. I looked around my room and saw nothing, so I thought I must be hallucinating. I turned back to the balcony with a sense of relief, but when I looked at the night skies again, I felt a chill go down my spine.

They looked like eyes. The stars really did look like eyes. Like the eyes of… dolls. And they were staring at me, as if intent on watching my every move.

Eyes wide open at the realization, I backed up slowly and tried to retreat back into the comfort of my room that I just checked seconds ago.To my utter shock, the doors were locked, which I have no memory of locking them. I turned around to face the doors, scrambling to open them, banging, punching, pushing the doors, but all to no avail.

I began to panic, and in the middle of thrusting my whole weight onto the doors, I glanced behind me at the sky.

I should have never looked back.

In addition with the twinkling eyes made of diamond, a body of a doll began to form along with each set of diamond eyes. They were floating in on me, with an unsettling glint in their eyes.

I thrusted a few more times and finally broke down the door. I ran all the way downstairs, yelling for my parents along the way, but everything was quiet. Nobody responded.

I gave up on my parents coming to my rescue to tell me that floating dolls don’t exist, and I ran straight to the front door, intent on escaping this haunted house.

I opened the door and tried to rush out in a hurry, but there was something big waiting on the outside of the door. I was running, so I did not see it when I bumped into it and fell on my bottom, back into the house.

If I were not running for my life, I would have said this scene was comical. But I was running for my life. And when I finally looked up to see what I bumped into, I paled.

It was a floating doll.

How I wonder…

What…

You…

Are…

Author's note: I uhh… I guess I’m not a big fan of horror, I dislike non-fiction more, but how do you even write in non-fiction?! Lol, so I chose horror instead, haha.

And yes ig this is ruining nursery rhymes, pls don’t hate me- lol

Thanks for reading! ^^

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©️ Lᴜɴᴀ ✨

Weekly 2

Collaborative:
(Written by me and @jamient– non-bolded sections are theirs.)

Aurum's hands shook as he looked at the massive machine hulking in front of him. Clenching his fists to hide his fear, he nodded quickly as his boss talked. “So, you'll just be doing a few routine repairs - I know it's not the most exciting thing in the world, but hey, we've all got to do a little menial work every once in a while.” The manager smiled like he was trying to be relatable or funny, but all Aurum could do was try not to throw up out of nerves.
Breathe, he told himself, like that was supposed to help– he was already doing /that/ more than quickly enough. “Uh, s-sir, just to be certain… there's no one around who might be more… qualified to do this?” His boss gave a booming, dizzying laugh. “Don't be so modest! You've helped out the engineers, right?” Aurum had to nod, but his mind was still screaming: Not since my apprenticeship! Not since I changed tracks! /Definitely/ not since I've known what they were actually making!
“Then you should be fine,” the man said, waving a hand dismissively to Aurum's blank, terror-filled stare. “As long as you don't accidentally bring it to life again - we had to haul a few bodies out of the Processing and Tagging department last week; some idiot animated the mechanics again!” Aurum gave what was an attempt at a laugh, but came out more as a shrill grimace. “Of course, sir,” he said. Turning to the machine, he gulped. What were the odds that he survived this without being fired?
“Right! You know all of this– I'm just holding you back.” The manager waved a hand at a steel rack beside the machine. “Don't forget your safety harness!” He turned away, smirking over his shoulder. “But of course, you know that too.” Aurum pulled his eyes away from the machine, where copper wires branched over the surface like veins. “Safety” harnesses sat sprawled across the rack, but despite the cogs and wires that covered each one he'd never seen a way to actually tether one to anything.
“Of course, sir,” Aurum began, but the man was already leaving, whistling a jaunty tune with his hands in his pockets. He looked around to the other workers, praying that he'd be able to glimpse one of them stepping into their own harnesses, but alas - they were already working. With an experimental tug he managed to pull his on, but where was it supposed to go? Onto the machine? Laying an experimental hand on the surface, he yelped and jumped back. The surface was warm, as if he was touching human flesh, or an animal's fur - but no, this was definitely metal. Right?
The shining surface almost seemed to respond, letting out a wheeze that sounded too much like a sigh of exasperation. The harness clattered as Aurum fidgeted– if the machine really was alive, couldn't it tighten its own loose screws? Not that he'd ever question it aloud, even on the days when getting fired seemed like his better option. Today, though, reality overpowered even his fear– he had to keep this job. There was no other reason to stand here with no experience or tools instead of running away.
“Hi?” he whispered quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of any of the other workers. He might as well be fired for insanity if they saw him /talking/ to the machine. “Uh - I'm Aurum. I just have to do a routine check on you, so if you could… not kill me? That would actually be very fantastic? Thank you, mister… mister machine.”
The machine hissed, dusting Aurum with cold sparks. As he squinted against the lights, his eye caught on a cluster of wire veins. Against dark metal, they formed shapes almost like letters. Y-O-U. Aurum, shocked out of his fear, blinked. Had that looked like that before? Or did the metal remember him? “Me,” he whispered.


Character:
Name: Tally Crane
Age: 14
Species: dragon-winged human
Personality/ traits:
Tally does a lot of daydreaming. Her imagination is huge (and impressive, from a storyteller’s point of view), but she’s not very good at being practical with it all. From her point of view, she’s a human who can fly, and some people might think of that as impossible (depending on the setting and world-building)—but she knows they’re wrong. If she knows one of her dreams is possible, she usually can’t see a reason why not to make it happen (unless it’s very risky). She’s realistic about things that actually do have zero chance of happening, though.
She’s introverted and mostly quiet, unless you can get her talking about a big idea that excites her. She’s sometimes a little bit self-conscious because she gets a lot of uneasy reactions when she does tell people her thoughts. It’s easy for her to get into misunderstandings, and flying alone helps her to feel better afterwards. On some days she’d just rather not deal with people at all, and she’ll act more closed-off. When she gets mad at someone she’ll give them the complete silent treatment. (Sometimes she holds a grudge, depending on the person and what happened.) She’s not usually impulsive, and she has the dedication she needs to make some of her wild ideas happen.
(I imagine her wings as white with light blue tones and scaly.)

Wants/ hopes/ strengths:
Tally has a wish at the back of her head that she’ll find someone who doesn’t give her weird looks when she shares her ideas, but she’s not optimistic about this actually happening. On her rough days she’ll just want to be left alone to create her visions for herself, but she knows most of these things won’t happen without someone else’s help. She is an extremely good outside-the-box thinker, even with constraints—she might not be the best at grasping the practical matters behind the limits, but she’ll never say there’s no way to work within them.
Since she feels like people judge her a lot for her ideas, Tally tries not to do this to anyone else. A certain amount of empathy comes with her imagination (even if it comes up in odd situations sometimes—not everybody tries to sympathize with the villain). She has no idea what she would do if someone actually came to her with an idea she didn’t like, but she’s openminded enough that this probably won’t happen anytime soon. Not getting stuck on her emotions is another strength—she tends to distract herself from anything that’s upsetting her by accident—but when she’s alone she’ll always need to come back to the problem.
Her crazy ideas and plans are her passion, and in the end she just wants to be allowed to follow them and have fun with them.

Dislikes/ fears:
Words like “pointless” annoy Tally, and while she’ll brush it off fairly well if you insult /her,/ she will get angry if you tell her what she’s /doing/ is wrong somehow, or if you’re unfair to someone else. She dislikes rain—it’s hard to fly in, if it’s strong enough.
She is afraid of no longer being able to fly, on a less deep level, and of being seen as just an unrealistic innocent kid who can’t handle the real world. She doesn’t share her thoughts for no reason and doesn’t want people to think she’s just spilling out whatever crosses her mind—she has plenty of thoughts and dreams that she’ll always keep to herself.

Setting (My favorite! And also a little long because I mixed up the wordcount):
This story takes place in the city of Otherwise, which is built vertically within a long ravine. The ravine is narrow, meaning most buildings are connected to both walls. A river runs through the bottom, leaving behind a blue clay that’s used everywhere in the city.
People (whatever species your characters are) first built here to escape the heavy winds above ground level, as well as to make their city harder for enemies to locate from a distance. Nowadays, though, the ravine spills out lamplight even by day, making it kind of obvious. But no outsiders have come in decades.
Otherwise was built with no particular plan in mind, and it shows: the whole place is a tangle of bridges, wedged-in buildings, and views all the way down to the river below. All but the highest-ranking houses and certain other important buildings have walkways over their roofs, as well, since they bridge the gap from one sheer wall of the ravine to the other. Lots of the people who live here tell stories of how even before the city was built you couldn’t stand at one end of the ravine and see the other, but no one remembers if this really is true—nowadays all of the buildings get in the way.
If you look up in most places, you can still see the sky. Even at the lowest points—just above the river, so deep that some people will tell you that you can feel the rock getting warmer—it’s still possible to find speckles of clear light between the many layers of bluish brick and glass.
(Obviously, carts and carriages are kind of hard to handle here. Even the highest classes usually walk everywhere.)
Food comes mostly from plants—there are some greenhouses near the surface, and the people of Otherwise have become experts in getting things to grow by filtered light and lamplight. Water comes from the river, but the system of pumps is mostly tucked away out of sight. Electricity is a fairly new discovery, and more wires wind over the rock walls every year.
At the time of the story, it’s raining over Otherwise, although no more than a few drops manage to fall as far as the city archives. This was the point of building them so far down, so the delicate papers wouldn’t risk getting wet, but it also seems fitting in other ways. From where the protagonist stands, just outside the entrance (they can be going in, coming out, or just walking by), most of the city seems unusually close, from the smaller, shabbier houses this deep in the ravine to the polished halls overhead. It’s early morning. People move across the walkways, but compared to most times of day it's almost quiet. Dim lamps make it easier to see, but not really “brighter”—but luckily there are little bits of sunlight that do that. Still fairly far underfoot (spray from below wouldn’t be any better for the papers than rain), the river’s flow is stronger than usual—probably because of the weather.

Premise:
Your character has accepted a job—it’s a great offer, sounds fun to them, and involves their talents, and they’ve been promised it won’t interrupt their normal life too much. The person they now work for, though, is a terrible liar and obviously hiding something. By the time of the story, the main character hasn’t done anything to do with the job since agreeing to it and has been trying to hide the job from the people around them for a few days (if they’re technically too young for a job, then that’s one reason to do so) and they’re on their way to somewhere where they have planned to meet their suspicious boss for more details. Before they get there, the boss cuts off their path and rushes them to somewhere entirely different, seeming frantic. The main character’s reaction and a reveal of what the boss is up to (they can be well-meaning or not) shape the rest of the story.

Final story:
Character by @Sunclaw68
Setting by @Galaxy_Awesome
Premise by @–Scratch-Camp–

Alasdair’s steps shook against the rough-cut stone of the corridor—or was it a tunnel? Cut through solid rock and smelling even worse, somehow, than the worn-out air all throughout the cave system, the passageway could almost have seemed like a natural flaw in the earth if not for the doors. They shone in the pale light of glowworms on the ceiling, cut from solid slabs of opaque crystal.
Alasdair didn’t bother pretending that he trembled from fear. The door he’d left behind was still unlocked, true. Even worse, he recognized the musty smell that snaked through the corridor. Still, half of him almost wanted to get caught.
This was wrong.
He didn’t steal. There was never a way to see all of the consequences, how it might hurt people, and anyway diplomacy always worked so much better.
But that had been before the underground cities. Before he’d stumbled upon the steep downward tunnel during his endless travels and jumped at the chance to experience a part of the world he hadn’t even known existed. Before he’d wandered down without encountering a single one of the strange beasts that lived under the earth—by pure, impossible luck, he’d been told. To arrive during the single moment on record when the tunnels sat unguarded? Before he’d heard word that the creatures had resumed their posts—that there was no way out.
He’d heard rumors, eventually, of an item whose glow could drive the beasts away entirely, at least for a short time. The man said to hold the relic in the maze of tunnels beneath his sprawling cave-home had done nothing but shut down at one mention of the topic. Several dozen polite attempts at questioning hadn’t turned up anything but a grunt.
Alasdair had felt himself cringe away from the perfectly typical questions in his head—wasn’t this man a city official? Wasn’t that taking advantage of the city’s people, if he refused to give them a way to the surface? Wouldn’t it be better if the relic changed hands?
He’d known even then that those thoughts were only a cover-up for the (terrible) decision he’d already made.
Now standing in front of a single glossy door, he took in a breath to steady his protesting instincts. He’d met a thief a century or so ago who’d given out her loot to people in need, right? Not that he’d approved of her method at the time…
His hand still quavered as he slipped the door open. As harsh greenish light spilled across the threshold, he sighed in half-relief. He’d guessed the right door on the first attempt—more luck he’d probably regret later.
Inside the tiny chamber, a single lantern waited on a carved pedestal. Its crystal core leaked uneasy emerald glow, and delicate ironwork swirled around it and curled up into the handle like a cage of smoke and wind. Alasdair found himself squinting in its light. He’d been struggling to see in the low light of the caves for the past week, but apparently his eyes had adjusted better than he’d thought.
It sat suspiciously unguarded—but then, given the smell in the hallway, the relic’s temporary owner probably hadn’t been careless.
Right. Everything was simple from here onward, wasn’t it? Take the lantern, backtrack, find some trustworthy person—there would always be at least one, he believed—and have them take the lantern when he reached the surface. They could keep the relic safe, offer its help to anyone who dreamed of leaving the caves.
But did anyone here really dream of that? he wondered, standing paralyzed as the door swung shut. Other than himself? Maybe he couldn’t stay here forever any more than he could put down roots anywhere else, but what if he was the only one? Wasn’t the important part just the possibility of escape?
A soft murmur drifted through the door from the corridor outside, followed by… “voice” seemed to be the right term, somehow, even though it spoke no words he understood.
“Growl” might have also worked.
He couldn’t be found here. Alasdair spun towards the door—maybe he could hide in another room?
But the lantern…
He found himself reaching for it even through the thoughts that screamed he was only being selfish. No one else here always had to move on like he did. No one else felt trapped under the ground.
The door to the lantern room swung open.
He’d been right about the smell.
—
The tunnel guard nudged Alasdair out the mouth of the corridor. She hadn’t touched him otherwise—the musty-smelling little creature at her feet was enough of a threat. Shaped vaguely like a hairless, mold-white dog, it wasn’t much larger than her armored boots, but the speed of its every movement and the needle-shaped fangs that reached down below its jaw made up for that. Its smell echoed the scent of the tunnel to the surface—a path full of creatures like these was the fate he’d already only narrowly missed. This one seemed to listen to the guard’s every order, grumbling.
“I confess.” Alasdair’s voice was steady, despite the way his thoughts squirmed at the thought of punishment.
“I don’t think we need that.” The guard smirked. In the dull light of an ordinary crystal set above the doorway, she seemed to be an elf like him—but from what he’d seen, all species names faded away into “cave dweller” with enough generations underground. “You’re green-handed here.”
“Well, apologies if I’ve never been arrested before.”
“You’re learning from experience now. Why’d you want the boss’s rock?”
Alasdair hesitated. They’d reached the central cavern of the capital city, and he stared up into its heights, where twisting rock spires shimmered with shadow rather than light. Ahead of him, shoppers flowed from one market stall to another. Thousands of voices echoed between the faraway walls.
“Everyone should be allowed to move on,” he said at last, hoping she didn’t ask him who he was referring to. He didn’t know himself.
“You don’t like it here.”
“It’s not that! I—”
She snorted, cutting him off. “If you want out, maybe ask someone who knows what they’re doing. I could borrow the lantern and sneak you up there blindfolded.”
“From what I’ve seen—” Alasdair stopped himself. It probably didn’t matter that the cave-dwellers seemed to be able to do anything blindfolded. “If you’re serious… could you possibly wait a few days?”
“Course I’m serious.” She bent down to scratch her cave creature on one feathery ear, and it hissed. “Why?”
“I… I’d like to stay. Talk to people. Just in case anyone really would like to come with me.”