unedited - 1
universe: i wish no more harm

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note: an interaction i just needed to write, will definitely be revisited and edited. nilam just suffers in this universe, and i'm hoping to add more to anil's character. title is just for organisation.

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Her stomach ached as she made her way up the stairs. Her cloak trailed behind her, the weight throwing her off-balance. The fact that all it took was a little fabric to * her off, that irked her more than any fatigue could. Beneath her feet, the carpet seemed to dull every day. Whether it was the dust or her mind playing some pointless trick on her, she’s never know. Her crown shifted from side to side with every step she took towards her room. Her gaze shifted to the walls, trying to find some peace in the chaos of the infinite paintings, tapestries and sculptures. Beautiful, truly. A shame that they were destined to rot in some noble’s basement after the auction.

The drag of the cloak grew stronger and her head felt lighter. She staggered towards the entrance of her room. With a wave of her arm, she disabled the security systems, the marking on her palm glowing a muted red. She was far too exhausted to deal with them, but she made it a point to enter the room and lock the doors as quickly as possible. As soon as she was welcomed by the sight of her catastrophically messy desk and glimmering chandelier, she collapsed onto the bed. Her mind raced, stuck in a state where she was far too tired to move, yet not enough to fall asleep. Convenient.

“Nilam.” a voice whispered. Her body froze at the familiar voice, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted.

No. No, not him.

“I’m tired, not today.” She replied after several moments. Her limbs tensed, sinking into the mattress. The silk suddenly felt too cold, the air too still.

“You don’t get to choose.” he stated, smug as ever.

“You’re just in my head, I’m in full control of this.” Nilam groaned more to herself than to the figure before her. He was translucent, yet his silhouette perfectly discernable.

“That’s a lie, you know it.”

“Am I to believe you are some spirit, Anil? Some ghost haunting my every waking moment?”

“I can haunt your dreams instead, if you’d like.”

“Leave.”

The past year had been exceptionally taxing on her. The world is a difficult place to navigate once you’ve been swallowed by loss. With every breath she takes, she is reminded of his betrayal, and more importantly, her failure.

They remained in silence for a few minutes, allowing Nilam to recollect her thoughts. She took in a deep breath and tried not to focus on the dampness of her hair.

“Where are the others?” Her voice was feeble. The question had remained at the tip of her tongue for weeks, but she never really wanted the answer. Until now. Anil tilted his head in confusion, but after one look at her face, he looked down and sighed.

“They’re enjoying my realm.” He replied, though he was aware that his answer was unsatisfactory. “They,” he proceeded cautiously, “didn’t want to visit.”

Nilam closed her eyes. The words stung more than she expected them too. “Why?”

“They don’t see a need for it, I think.” He said.

That was when Nilam’s heart began to break.

“No need? After everything I’ve been through, they think there’s no need to meet me?” Nilam whispered, “Anil, it would’ve been so much easier if I had died with all of you, you know that right? You’re the reason I’m here, for gods sake. You and your cursed corruption, it’s the reason we’re in this mess. That, and my blatant incompetence.”

“Nilam, I think-”

“Shut up, no, seriously. Are you still trying to control me?” Her voice was growing louder, more desperate and pained with every word.

Anil’s neutral expression faltered, nearly offended at the statement.

“You killed them, you know that right?” Nilam asked, “And they’d still rather spend time with you over the one that got left behind.”

No, this wasn’t fair.

“Anil, you slaughtered them without mercy and made me kill you. You smiled and cherished the whole event. My friends, the people that kept me alive, ruthlessly murdered by the boy I had fallen in love with. To top it all off, said boy forces me to kill him and save myself. Do you know how many times it replays in my head? Over and over again, and every single time I stab myself instead. That battle lasted not more than a day to the rest of you, right?”

Anil shifted uncomfortably, tempted to console her, but he knew it was far from his place to do so.

“My whole life has been dictated by you. I am forced to fix your mistakes, help the people you hurt. In doing so, I have living in that battle ever since. I’ve been forced to drown myself in those long hours, replaying every moment because I have no choice. My existence will forever be dictated by something you did, and my friends think it doesn’t matter. That I saw them die. Do you understand that?” She was screaming now, seated on the mattress, finger pointed at him.

“I was corrupted.” He whispered.

“And I don’t care.” She spat.

version 2
universe: i wish no more harm

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

note: i tried to redeem anil's character slightly, however i thing i lost some of the weight of the situation. the dialogue doesn't seem as sad, if that makes sense? while i do strongly believe that nilam has a breaking point, i don't think this is the right place for it, but i'm still unhappy with the lack of emotion.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

“So you’ll visit regularly?”

Nilam wondered how she found herself in this situation: staying up at night talking to the ghost of the person that ruined her life. She lay on her side with her back against the wall. It was uncomfortable, but she didn’t have it in her to care.

“Probably, I don’t have anything better to do.” He replied with a tilt of his head. The figure seated beside her was translucent and glowed a faint crimson, and if she looked closely, she would notice that his hair was black instead of a rich brown and that his hazel eyes were adorned with flecks of green. These faults should have stood out instantly, but she didn’t care enough to notice. Company was company, and she was grateful for it.

“Does she miss me?” She asked.

He cautiously ran his hand through a lock of her hair. “Who?”

“Manasa,” She chose to ignore his feigned cluelessness.

“She hopes you’re doing well, I’m sure.” He said.

“Does she not enquire about my whereabouts? I’ve been expecting her visit for a long time.” She said with a raised eyebrow.

“She doesn’t talk about you much, she’s busy with Karunya.”

Nilam paused. Manasa was someone she held very dear, and for the past year, she had been patiently waiting for news from her best friend.

“Does she not have the time?”

“Nilam, I don’t think-”

“So she doesn’t wish to visit me, understood.” She whispered, holding back a stubborn tear. She’d fought through worse, and it will take more to see her cry. Oh, how far she’s come: an astonishingly sensitive child turned into a stoic excuse of a mage. Her friends must be glad.

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Do not lie to me, Anil. I deserve the truth from at least you.”

He sighed, closing his eyes and resting a hand on her shoulder, to which she flinched. She shifted her body, now lying on her back. Beneath her were sheets of golden silk, which she was grateful for since the mattress below was painfully firm. The ceiling above seemed duller than usual everything around her did. Odd.

“I am here, trying my best to make amends. Is that not enough?”

She spoke, “This is not about you.”

“I know, I just-” His voice faltered, “I know it’s not possible to compensate my actions. And they believe that since I’m at fault, there’s no need for their interference.”

“Checking up on me is not interference.”

“Valid argument, but death changes people. They become . . . less rational.”

“But you’re here?”

“Our arrangement is far from rational.” He stated with a dry scoff. Nilam nodded slowly.

“I want to be free, Anil.” she whispered.

“From what, the luxuries of the palace?” He attempted at humouring her. She forced a small smile.

“How long was the battle?” She noticed his expression drop, “A few hours, was it not?” He nodded, and she took a deep breath.

“To me, I-” She struggled to phrase it correctly, “The battle, it’s dictated my life ever since; it probably will till my dying breath. Those moments have lasted about a year. Day after day, I have to surround myself in it.”

His brows furrowed, unable to hide his confusion. “Why?”

“That is my job, analysing those few hours to make sure it never happens again. I help the people you’ve harmed, Anil, and I fix all the problems you created. And for that, the nobles find it necessary that I-” She paused, “I must drown myself in the details. I must relive those moments with every breath.”

“That’s unecessary.”

“Are you aware of the extent of the damage you dealt? I failed, and this is the only way I can repay-”

“Failed? You killed me, you stopped me.”

“No. Anil, I didn’t prevent anything. You killed everyone, and t-then,” A tear rolled down her cheek, “y-you knelt before me and made me stab you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Whatever you’re going to say, I assure you that it won’t help.”

“I want to fix things, Nilam.”

“You can’t. It’s far too late. I just wish that,” She sighed, “your actions didn’t have to dictate my entire existence. And I miss my friends, Anil. I miss them so much.” Her voice was beginning to tremble.

“I’ll ask them to visit, if you’d like that.” He suggested. She nodded in response. He continued, “They’ve changed so much, and trust me, they’re not worth any emotion from you.”

“I’ll decide that for myself.” She said firmly.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, “For everything. For getting corrupted, for the whole fiasco.”

“Fiasco is an astronomical understatement.” Nilam quipped. He let out a dry laugh, though his regret was clear as day. She knew his apologies were sincere, yet she couldn’t bring herself to accept them. “I wish I didn’t get left behind.” She mumbled.

They dwelled in the silence for a while before she noticed Anil’s figure begin to fade. She closed her eyes, and by the time the chandelier above returned to her view, he was gone. She was glad he made it a point to visit, but she was aware that the last thing she needed was more . . . triggers; more things that act as a catalyst for a downward spiral. In all honesty, she didn’t care. His company was the only thing keeping her sane. How inconvenient.

“Get some rest,” She commanded herself, “You are in desperate need of it.”

noé and jagriti - someone on your mind?
universe: chb ocs

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

note: i love their dynamic the more i think about it. especially considering that their alignments are chaotic good (noé) and lawful evil (jagriti). they were also revamped versions of my old chb ocs (noé was previously . . . forget their name and jagriti was jordan). jagriti is tamil and noé is spanish. i had to look up the slang so i have no idea if these are correct but fingers crossed. i love writing about friendships like these, so hopefully more of these two in the future.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

“Noé, where is it?”

“None of your business, Calaca.”

Noé was seated across the couch in the Primordial Gods' cabin, determined to ignore that Jagriti was in search of his diary. He fiddled with a scrap of fabric, observing how the gold embroidery glinted in the light.

“Come on, who is this mystery soul that has won over your stone heart?” She whined. He rolled his eyes and threw the cloth across the room.

“No one, I don’t who you’re—what’s the word? Rambling? Yes, rambling. I don’t know who you’re rambling about.” He argued, crossing his arms in defiance. She raised an eyebrow. How does someone show so much with just their eyebrows, while maintaining an otherwise emotionless expression?

“You don’t trust me?” She accused.

“Woah, you said that, not me.” Noé said, throwing his hands in the air. Jagriti groaned, forcing a smirk out of him. “What,” he teased, “Do you want it to be you?”

“Shut up, da. Anyway, know that I will hold this against you. Also, you’ve dated like, what, seven people in the last three months?”

He tensed up, to which she tilted her head. “Didn’t mean in a negative way.” She explained.

“Six people, not seven.” He jested. She rolled her eyes and collapsed onto a nearby chair. God, she couldn’t sit like a normal person to save her life.

“I hate it when you date people for fun. How many of them have broken up with you?” She asked.

“I broke up with all of them.” He cautiously answered. Jagriti sighed and furrowed her brows. He was well aware of her disapproval, and it didn’t help that she didn’t even try to hide it.

“Respectfully, you’re a—what’s the thing you say? (redactied)?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“From what angle?”

“You’re the worst friend ever. Mates are supposed to be, you know, supportive? Is it so hard?”

"Suma suma. Who even says ‘mates’?” She countered and he cursed under his breath.

“Not the point.” He mumbled. She let out a tsk sound and began to fiddle with the loose threads of her baggy jeans. Cement grey, their colour was one he loathed with his whole heart.

“Is this one different?” She asked; she always did, and he always said yes. Then they’d last two weeks, and the list of people who hated him with a burning passion grew longer. She knew this too, so why was even asking?

“I don’t know, I’m not getting my hopes up.” He replied.

“Want to change topic?” She said, and he nodded. “A shame,” she continued, “I was enjoying your uncomfort.”

“You’re a ray of sunshine, Tramposa.”

“How insulting of you, nai. One day, I will uncover the identity of ‘Mi cielito’ and you will never hear the end of it.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Sleepover; you talk a lot in your sleep.” She said with a shrug.

“Anyone on your mind?” Noé questioned. He grinned as he noticed Jagriti’s eyes narrow.

“No, we both know I’m above such things.” She joked. He chuckled and grabbed a chair, placing it next to hers.

“Honestly, no one?” He muttered.

“Luckily, no. Now tell me about mystery person.” She demanded.

“You’re a child.” He hissed.

“I know.” She said with a small grin.

“You have a spar with Alain in about, uh, five minutes?” He reminded her. Her eyes widened and her face was in her hands, to which he let out a hearty laugh.

“How badly did you lose last time?”

“I didn’t,” she scowled, “because I played by the rules. She cheated, and she always does.”

“They have my respect if they manage to scare you.” He said and smirked.

“Shut up, kurangu. Do you like to see me suffer?”

“What’s that word? Ah, yes, leave with haste dear friend.” Noé quipped resulting in Jagriti letting out an exasperated groan.

“Meet you later?”

“I’ll find you, don’t worry. Origami this time or—”

“We’re never doing origami ever again.”

“Such resentment towards paper?”

That was supposedly Jagriti’s last straw since she sprinted out of the cabin, Noé giggled and stretched his limbs. Part of him hoped that she'd find out who it was because it was too much work trying to keep it a secret, but he knew the consequences were not worth it. Endless jokes, teasing and pranks? Nope, absolutely not.

And with that Noé decided that he deserved to bask in the orange sunshine, being as unproductive as ever while singing terribly to annoy his cabin-mates. That sounded like a treat.

aizah and nanditha: night skies and painkillers
universe: interwoven


*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

note: another title merely for organisation. these two need more fleshing out, but i am still content. i do like the dialogue in this piece a lot though.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Nanditha glanced nervously at the bruises on Aizah’s left knee.

“Are they listening?” Nanditha signed. Aizah shook her head, which relieved some of Nanditha’s stress, but the tightness in her chest lingered. Her eyes narrowed as her palm grazed beside a particularly frightening wound.

“This?” Nanditha whispered. Aizah hesitated to respond, which irked Nanditha, but she finally managed, “The blade was . . . special. I’m not sure, sorry.”

Nanditha didn’t fail to notice how often Aizah’s gaze wandered to her hair. For once, it was untamed and messy; she wondered whether Aizah preferred it that way.

Aizah’s finger made its way to a stray lock, gently brushing against the silver strands. “Looks different.” She murmured.

“How perceptive of you.” Nanditha jested, to which Aizah tilted her head and smiled.

The two sat in silence, occasionally paying attention to the night sky above. Shades of deep purple and greys provided a stark contrast to the lilac clouds.

“Let’s dress your injuries.” Nanditha offered, but Aizah dismissed it with a shake of her head. “No, it’s okay. It’s not that bad.” Aizah said. Nanditha scoffed, “I’ll decide that for myself.”

Soon the lilac clouds blended in with the navy blues, the greys shifted to blacks, and the stars finally decided to make an appearance. Nanditha spotted three in the sky, tiny but as bright as ever. The moon peeked through a fleeting cloud or two, and the sky seemed brighter for it. Aizah loved the skies.

“Your hair looks like it was made of starlight,” Aizah stated blankly. Nanditha wondered if Aizah had even meant to voice the statement, so she didn’t pay much attention to it. Yet, heat crept to her cheeks, and the pace of her heartbeat picked up ever so slightly.

“How much painkillers did you take?” Nanditha sighed.

“Probably too many.” Aizah confessed.

“Go sleep.”

“No, the view's quite nice today.”

“Then do just that and stop rambling.” Nanditha mumbled and ran her hand through her hair. Her thoughts raced back to Aizah's wound, more specifically the mention of a ‘special blade’. If their opponents were getting creative, they would have to reinforce a few barriers soon.

“We're in danger, aren't we?” Aizah whispered.

“We're always in danger.” Nanditha replied.

“I want you to be safe.” Aizah said. Nanditha's gaze met Aizah's, brows furrowing. “We are—”

“I want to protect you,” Aizah continued, "No matter the cost. You've been caring for me for too long thangam. I have to do—“

”You being alive is more than enough for me,“ Nanditha paused, ”It is more than what I deserve.“

Aizah shook her head and held her hand. ”You deserve the world, the skies, the heavens and everything in between. If not that, you at least deserve to be happy.“

”I am happy,“ Nanditha said.

”With a life of being on the run?“

”With the life I chose to spend with you.“

”I made you choose this,“ Aizah argued.

”You didn't make me choose to stay.“ Nanditha's tone was stubborn, and Aizah couldn't help but admire it.

”We are young; we have a long road ahead of us.“ Nanditha said, gazing at the stars.

Aizah gestured at her wound. ”With trouble at every corner, I doubt it.“

”Don't say that,“ Nanditha said.

”Say what?“

”That we won't make it out of here alive.“

”You will. I have no doubt about it.“

”Shut up, Aizah. Go get some rest."

Aizah let go of Nanditha's hand, stood up with a groan and made her way back to the cabin. The wooden floor creaked with every step she took. Nanditha's hand recoiled from the sudden lack of warmth. Aizah's words stung, and she feared whether she believed that Nanditha was too incompetent to keep her alive. Aizah was far too eager to sacrifice her life, and it irked Nanditha. She wants the best for Nanditha, but yet fails to realise that all Nanditha needs at the moment is her. How convenient.

jagriti's nightmare
universe: chb ocs

praying this doesn't get taken down lmao TuT

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

note: jagriti's backstory isn't done but i have a vague idea of it. also, tw for bl00d and this is a nightmare scene, so do proceed with caution. also her mom is . . . complicated. please, do proceed with caution.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Her years before Camp Half-Blood often blurred together, yet certain parts have always been too clear for her liking. A haze of dull grey shifted into painfully sharp images, and the voices caused her head to spin. It suffocated her to the point where she feared closing her eyes and getting the rest she desperately needed.

Too late now.

TW: there is a lot of bl00d, so please, proceed with caution thanks :)

Drip.

The world shifted from darkness to lilac. The floor beneath her was cold, and her hands were covered in . . . bl00d. It was dripping down her skin, clinging to her hair. She could taste it as it coated her tongue. Gods, there was so much of it. She could feel it pooling beneath her feet, somehow crawling up her legs. Her clothes clung to her body, fusing with her skin. She tried to scream, but it trickled down her throat, warm and saline.

Drip. Drip.

The sky above was a glossy crimson. It felt like she was turning to stone, so all she could do was close her eyes while it began to pour. The droplets melted in her palm and seeped through the gaps between her fingers. The smell became unbearable, and the sound of bl00d hitting the stone beneath her drove her insane. Her insides curled.

end of TW for bl00d

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She wanted it to stop. She would do anything to make it stop.

“Anything?”

The voice made her skin crawl. The words echoed in her skull, absolutely maddening. Gods, she hated this.

“Amma?” Jagriti mumbled, a tear daring to roll down her cheek.

"Selflessness and desperation do not suit you, thangam,“ Amma replied.

Jagriti's eyes widened as the floor gave away beneath her. The world shifted once again, forcing her to close her eyes as a blinding white light filled her vision. Once she managed to pry them open, she observed the scenery around her: pleasant skies, fresh and dewy grass, and petals dancing along as a gust of wind took her by surprise. Her mother faced her, wearing her favourite saree. Jagriti noticed how the edges blurred into the background, like one of Noé's watercolour pieces.

Jagriti opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't manage to utter a single word. Amma chuckled and ran a hand through her luscious hair.

”Cat got your tongue?“ She asked, ”Your father would be so immensely disappointed; he always claimed you had a way with words.“

”What?“ Jagriti said.

Amma walked closer. Her skin glowed in the sunlight, and gods, she looked so painfully alive.

”You have to fix this, Jagriti. I deserve that much at least, right?“ Amma whispered, caressing Jagriti's cheek.

”Fix what?“ Jagriti asked, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth of her mother's touch, ignoring the fact that it wasn't real.

”You caused this, chellam. A life for a life, though I do think it is insulting that your father believes we are even remotely equal.“

”Ma, what—“

”Shut up and do what must be done. You want to make me proud, right? I deserve a daughter that actually loves me."

The sky faded into darkness, and her mother began to bleed into it. Jagriti knelt as the dirt morphed into quicksand. The sand clung to her skin, itchy and cold.

You know nothing, The sand whispered, suddenly pouring into her ears. Do the right thing—the noble thing.

I would if I was brave enough, she replied. Make it stop, please.

The sand cackled as it enveloped her, rushing into her eyes, overwhelmingly cold. She hugged her knees and brought them against her chest, her nails digging into her skin. A shiver ran down her spine as shadows surrounded her.

“Jagriti?”

Noé's voice managed to end that torturous nightmare. Jagriti jolted upward, her head throbbing and her fingers trembling. Her body and hair were dripping with sweat, gleaming in the light of the nightlamp.

“Shut up.” Jagriti blurted. She was in no mood for some heartfelt nonsense, especially not after . . . whatever the hell that was.

“Water?” Noé asked, holding out a copper water bottle. Jagriti nodded slowly, a wave of exhaustion washing over her.

He made his way next to her and hopped onto the bed. She snatched the bottle from him, earning a look of annoyance. She took a sip before placing it on the floor, her arms barely able to hold it for more than a few seconds.

Noé placed his hand on her shoulder, hoping to provide some sense of comfort. She nodded and placed her hand over his, trying to keep it there for as long as she could.

aizah and nanditha: what a shame
universe: interwoven

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

note: sort of proud? i thought i did a good job with everything other than dialogue. i love dialogue, but i tried to write less of it, and i don't think it's too bad

word count: 564

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Aizah sat across the table, trembling as the waitress brought out the first course. The air around her was frigid and raised the hairs on her skin, so as soon as she was presented with a warm plate, she clutched onto its edge, the intricate carvings transferring onto her palm. A shiver ran down her spine.

How did she let it come to this?

A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek. No, was it sweat or a tear? She hung her head low, determined to remain as silent as possible. Too much was on the line; she couldn't afford to let the situation get the better of her. Her hair brushed against her eyes, and she toyed with the fork in a feeble attempt to concentrate on something other than the person sitting across from her. This was torturous.

“Why are you so dull?” Nanditha's voice tore through the silence. She began to eat her meal: a tough bread with a side of concerningly vibrant vegetables. Nanditha glanced at the plate before her to find a portion of rice and rasam. She knew better than to indulge.

“There was only one way our story was going to end.” Nanditha said, monotonous. Aizah winced at the words, refusing to meet Nanditha's gaze. “It was written in the stars,” Nanditha continued, “You know that well enough.”

“Since when were you one to believe such nonsense?” Aizah drawled. Nanditha scoffed and brought her attention back to her food. Aizah straightened her posture and laced her fingers, resting them on her lap. Her gaze was still fixed on the marble beneath, focusing on the gold veins flowing through each tile.

“There's no point denying the truth,” Nanditha claimed, her voice firm. Aizah resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh please, are you listening to yourself?” Aizah asked, gently placing her hands on the table. Nanditha scoffed, running a hand through her iridescent hair.

“Have I told you how aggravating your voice is?” Nanditha remarked, her expression creeping into a smile. Aizah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I ought to do it more often.” Nanditha continued.

Aizah adjusted the collar of her shirt and toyed with the hem of her sleeves. She placed her hand on her things and drew circles with her thumbs. Nanditha had taught her that. She swept her hair to the side and let out a sigh.

“Will you not say anything back? No witty retorts? You're almost making me feel bad.” Nanditha jested as she placed her plate to the side.

“Who do you work for?” Aizah questioned.

“Why does it matter?” Nanditha replied.

“You want to kill me, don't you?” Aizah whispered. Nanditha's gaze softened.

“Took you long enough.” Nanditha said with a small smile

Nanditha wanted to kill her.

Aizah's mind went blank. Her heart was in her throat, and her palms grew sweaty. Suddenly the air was too cold, the light too bright and Nanditha's voice was far too loud. The words echoed in her skull, over and over again. Aizah felt . . . hollow.

Why would Nanditha want to kill her?
Did she not matter?
Did it mean nothing to her? The years they spent together, knowing no life but the one in which they cared for each other.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nanditha quipped.

Oh, how did Aizah mess it up so badly?

fairies and fiascoes

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word count: 109

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Many things bothered Aditi the Small, but right now, it was probably the fairy messing up her lovely black hair.
It flew across the room, snickering, and how cruel it could be! It was only last week that it ruined her lovely purple gown. She couldn't stand a chance against Tarun's other friends!
So the young child ran, leaping from corner to corner. She shook her arms like one of the feral beasts in Tarun's tales.
She jumped over her comb, and alas, she had succeeded! The trickster was cornered! She reached forward to grab it, grinning wide as a cat.

Swish.

Only for it to flee once more.

daily -1
swc july '24

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word count: 516

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The fields of gemstone seem to stretch as far as your eye could see. The colours overwhelm you, tugging at your skin, wailing for your attention like starved children. Droplets of sunlight are sprayed across the skin of the jewels, flickering with every laboured step you take. You look up and let out a long overdue sigh. The castle before you calms your senses with its dull familiarity: ageing brick, towers straining as they try to snatch the clouds, ant-like archers scattered all over. You know the expanse of mountains behind, as jagged and raw as the fields before you, like the back of your hand. A cosy city encases the castle, sloped rooves no bigger than pebbles as you squint. The residents are lovely hosts, you've been told; so lovely that no one ever leaves.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

It would be a shame to simply watch as the ash sucked the shine out of the marvellous wealth. And so, rationally, the raiders took them all. What else could you expect? Men had weaved through the fields, collecting each jewel, fingers trembling. They had placed them into the straw bags, with the care of holding a child. You recall the obsessive glint in their eyes: the glint of a life forever changed, for better or for worse. Most likely the latter. You remember the few days that had passed. Gosh, how eventful! The city had found itself bathed in flames of rancid green, its cries echoing yet between the mountaintops. The sky has lost its saccharine shine, the ash clogs the gaps between your toes and crawls beneath your nails, and you're relieved you no longer have to squint. The tallest tower of the castle is barely recognisable, but whatever remains of its stained-glass windows is difficult to miss. A lone raider scours through the rubble, a relic raised towards the sky. He claims that the land has been cleansed, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. No one can enter, ever again. Perfect.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Nature is a resilient thing. Jewels pry their way back to the surface, vines wrap desperately onto the crumbling brick, and blades of grass shoot from the earth, green like the flames that have taken so so much from this land. People still visit: they draw the mountains, and they pose in front of ruins, grinning ear to ear. The crowd grows larger with every passing year. They pay no attention to the tombstones, they walk by the skeletons blanketed in dust with admirable ease, and they ignore every plead to not touch the castle walls. The fields are speckled with colours, the sky seems to have regained some of its life, and the mountains have grown a little more silent, and you notice workers rushing to a corner. A building restoration, they say. Fascinating, the humans and their desperation to cling onto the past. To torment the ghosts who'd kill to forget, to wander aimlessly at peace. Yet the workers hammer on, drawing yet another smile out of you. Yes, this was progress. Rather . . . interesting progress. He's going to be pleased.

weekly 2
swc july '24

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

part one
word count: 419 words

based on:



*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

binary star
noun
: a system of two stars that revolve around each other under their mutual gravitation

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



Me and Nanditha were as disastrous as two partners could possibly be. Like a * time-bomb and its tick, tick, tick, sadistically excited to explode.

Things have gotten . . . complicated. Our backs have been against the wall for months, evading both Jyoti and her nefarious little patron. We jump from home to home, craft disguise after disguise. The dedication required leaves us feeling . . . empty. I sit on the couch, hot water in hand, wondering who I really am after all this hiding.

I know she feels the same. But oh my gosh—

The moment her mouth starts racing, a prayer whispered to the air, I can feel my fists clench and a scream tuck itself underneath my tongue. I know better than to let it out, but the muttering drives me insane. Her hair rises like wisps of smoke in their silver glory, and my brows can’t help but furrow. A scowl reveals itself to her and she glares.

I tell her that magic endangers us, she insists she doesn’t care. Not caring about our safety is the same as not caring about me. What kind of love is that?

And so we scream. The table morphs into a river of wood, clearly marking the two sides of our wars. A fork is gripped between her fingers, my voice rises and rises and rises and I cannot help but reach forward to grab her by the collar. The spell shoots out from her hand, and sometimes she graciously misses. Sometimes. But I almost habitually find myself sprawled on the floor, clutching my stomach, mumbling curses. Silence embraces the room as she towers over me, eyes glowing. My heart climbs up to my throat.

The same cycle . . . over and over and over.

She smiles.

I laugh.

“Coffee?” I ask.

She never says no.

A hand reaches out, taunting me. Do I want this to keep on going?

Maybe.

I put my hand in hers, grip stronger than the previous time. Always is; an adorable replacement for an apology.

My mind races. We stopped each other from drowning in the hopelessness of their situation, we helped each other pretend that all was not lost. I have loved her, and I am indebted to her. Blood magic is of no use without anchors, after all.

What is a fight or two or twenty compared to that?

“Coffee sounds amazing,” She replied, grinning ear to ear.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



part two
word count: 829 + 86

submitted: The Atra School is haunted. None of the students believe that, of course, but Daksh is certain of it. After all, as one of the many ghosts, he'd know. But as rumours echo through the hallways, Daksh finds out his cover is dangerously close to being blown. And if matters weren't horrid enough, a plague is spreading through the school, turning the living humans into creatures of night and horror. Daksh must choose his allies wisely, and, unfortunately, save the school from the clutches of doom.

used: Atlas is content in his village in the Hidden Forest. Sure, it's rainy, and food is scarce, and all the adults are pretty fearful and worried all of the time, but the War doesn't reach him here - and that's what's important, right? That's until his father, a volunteer soldier, is missing in the heartland of the enemy nation, Eden, and it seems like no one cares except for Atlas. He runs away from his village, but his best friend, Rhea, follows him. She convinces him to let her come along, and now he must travel through the realms to look for his father in the enemy-crawling, dangerous lands of Eden.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



“How about we grab some lunch?”

Rhea offered him a slight nod, and the two hurried their way through the narrow alleys of the town. After a solid hour or two, they practically threw themselves into Torch Inn. The sign seemed welcoming, and Rhea had mentioned she knew someone who worked there. Thank the gods.

The crimson brick was covered in wards, layer after layer after layer . . . It reminded him of his mother’s pastry. What kind of inn needed this sort of protection? His eyes narrowed as he scanned the surrounding buildings. 

Nothing. What kind of place had Rhea trapped them in?

They swung the doors open, and Atlas’ heart dropped. The crowd, each person about twice as tall as he was, shrouded him in shadow. He caught glimpses of lanterns hanging from the ceiling, but of what use were they now? He rolled his eyes and began to weave through a sea of sweaty elbows and arms. Rhea, that cursed girl, stood much taller, peeking above their shoulders in search of—

“Prometheus!” She called, waving her hand frantically. Atlas groaned as a wizard elbowed him in the face, not even bothering to apologise. 

“Rhea?” A voice replies, deep and coarse. Rhea grinned and clasped his hand, now dragging him towards it. 

“Gosh, be careful!” Atlas cried, dodging the bodies like his life depended on it. It probably did.

“It’s me, Rhea!” She screamed, now at the edge of the crowd, close to the receptionist’s desk. A few older men cursed at them as they cut to the front of the queue, greeted by the sight of this . . . mountain of a man. Atlas’ jaw tensed. The man at the reception had dark skin, grey eyes that put storm clouds to shame, and muscular arms that pulsed with every little movement. As he narrowed his eyes, he could see the resemblance between Rhea and him; that same hooked nose and bushy brows.

“Little dragonfly, what are you doing here?” He beamed as Rhea leant over the table. Rhea ran a hand through her charcoal hair and laughed. Atlas nudged closer to her, making way for an elderly woman. He eyed the forest-green walls that reminded him of home. This place irked him, but gods they needed a place to stay.

“We’d like a room for the two of us.” She said, “Travelling on a little adventure with my friend over here.”

She elbowed him and Atlas groaned. Looking up to meet Prometheus’ gaze, Atlas put on his most charismatic smile. The man returned a steely glare, and for a second Atlas saw Rhea’s face. It seems this whole family was out to set him on edge.

“Friend, eh? Lovely,” He drawled, moving towards a stack of notebooks.

“Lovely indeed,” Rhea mumbled, rummaging through her sling.

“What brings you to Goldbath? Oh, don’t worry about the payment dear, it’s free.” Prometheus said, voice warming the moment he looked at her. Atlas crossed his arms, straightened his posture and smiled again.

“On the way to Eden,” Atlas said, turning a few heads nearby.

“Eden, eh? Why you dragging her along to the frontlines?” Prometheus scowled, brow raised. He put on thick glasses and scribbled something into a leather-bound notebook. The thing was almost as large as his arms!

“Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?” Atlas chirped, earning a quick glare from Rhea.

“I’ll be dropping him at Barrelcoast.” She claimed, muscles twitching in her left hand. Her tell. Prometheus hummed and shot him another look. Atlas acted like he didn’t notice and looked around the inn. Lots of wizards

“Alright, you’re signed in. Let’s catch up over dinner, little dragonfly. It’s been so long!” Prometheus beamed, dismissively flinging a pair of keys at Atlas. Rhea nodded, and the man bent forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. 

They managed to find the stairs and sprinted to their room, almost running straight into a family of eight. That would’ve been a sight. 

The moment Atlas was done fumbling with the keys, Rhea kicked the door open and jumped onto the bed. Atlas snatched her bag, walked over to the corner near the almirah, and let them slouch in the corner. 

“Your uncle?” He asked, looking outside the cracked window.

“You could say that, yeah.” She said, lying down.
Atlas nodded and sat beside her, arms and legs crossed, leaning against the frame. 

“We’ll reach in a few days, kid,” She whispered, looking up at him. He avoided her searching eyes, scraping his nails against the dry skin. 

“I miss him,” He managed. She nodded, hummed, and placed her head on his thigh. Their eyes meet, his brown and her gold, and they share a moment of . . . Atlas wasn’t sure. Hope, maybe. 

“You’re not going to abandon me at Barrelcoast, are you?” He giggled.

“Gods, no. We’re best friends! I’m with you till the very end.” She replied, swatting his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He whispered.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



part three
word count: 161 words

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



I lean against the net of the balcony, grin as it strains
Poke my fingers through each square
Desperate to ripple the dull view
And discover something brighter

Instead, I see carpets of grey and white
Dragged across the sky
By chariots of wind, made of ice and frenzy
Now, they race through my hair

Strands of black cut across my vision,
Cracks. My eyes narrow, my brows furrow
And the city blurs into spheres
Of colours, smells, and sounds

A tree sways in the distance
Branches caught in a frantic dance
The flowers peek from beneath the bed of leaves
Smiling, beckoning the storm

The rain falls like sheets of cloth
Draped over the bustling city
The sound overwhelms me and I rush inside
Trapped and caged by the sight of water

The chariots creep into the house,
And a chill runs through my bones
I sip my tea, let the pages keep me company
And the rain still pours.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



part four
word count: 501

original: And so we scream. The table morphs into a river of wood, clearly marking the two sides of our wars. A fork is gripped between her fingers, my voice rises and rises and rises and I cannot help but reach forward to grab her by the collar.

product: I'm all ears. The center of the trilogy comes over the rice with a faithful guest, for we climb the sand with some gulps, a touch of reverence.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Three spirits stood before Umma, hovering over the pile of rice she used to summon them. A fourth lurked in the corner, much more horrific than the rest; limbs folded at obscene angles, guttural noises escaping its throat. Its skin was a pale blue, like the flowers in her aunt's garden. They'd used the blooms to dye her mother's wedding saree.

“Don’t mind him,” The middle one boomed, stepping forward. It had the face of an owl, and the body of a man about as old as her grandfather. Brush strokes of blue ink were scattered across the sagging skin. Obscenely thick bangles circled its arms, and clusters of rings weighed down its fingers. The jewels glittered in the little light that poured through the window. A saree had been gracefully draped around its body, made of the finest emerald silk she’d ever seen. 

“You’re Divinity?” She asked, looking up to meet its beady eyes. The beak had flecks of gold all over the surface. Beautiful.

“That would be correct, little one. I am Anger.” The first one spoke, the head of a snake, and neck down . . . a torso made of wood and what she guessed were the limbs of a bear. Fascinating. This was the spirit she'd had to work the hardest for, and the fact that it had paid off was enough to make her day.

“I am Merry.” The third grinned; a young woman, no older than her brother. With eyes bordered with thick kajal and cheeks patterned in gold, Umma could not peel her eyes off her. A nagging thought crept into Umma’s mind: she seemed . . . familiar.

“That,” Divinity said, pointing at the twisted spirit, “Is Faith, my companion.”

“What have you summoned us for?” Anger questioned, looking down at the young girl with an ever-growing scowl. Umma rummaged through the bag at her feet and pulled out a garland of jasmine; about seven hours of work, it was twice her height and doused in countless enchantments.

The spirit’s eyes widened, probably sensing its magic. Umma grinned and tossed it at Faith. Next, she places her banana leaf beside her, sits down, and smears turmeric all over the surface.

“A quest?” Merry squeals, sitting beside her. Umma nodded, showing the leaf to Divinity. Its head rotates as it mutters the words engraved into the surface.

“Interesting. Who assigned this to you?” It said, adjusting its saree.

“My grandmother.” Umma replied, taking out a photograph to show it to them.

“No need. What is your offering?” Anger stated, waving his hand dismissively. Faith hissed, and Umma caught a glimpse of a terrifying . . . smile?

“The soul of my father.” She replied.

The spirits froze. Merry’s smile drops, Anger’s scowl morphs into a grin, and Divinity’s gaze grows, somehow, fiercer. Beads of sweat roll down her neck and back, her fingers begin to twitch, and the weight of all that she has sacrificed is once again placed on her shoulders. Would they—

“I’m all ears.” Divinity said.

Umma smiled.

answers for the third heist!

my project is refusing to save TuT so here are some screenshots of my answers!

swc daily - 24
swc july '24

s.w.c - sorry we're closed
word count: 330

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



“Sorry kids, we’re closed!”

Bedlam cursed, swinging their metal bat around like some deranged lunatic. I mean, that is precisely what they were, maybe it made sense. They paused, noticing my narrowed eyes, and placed the bat at their side. We leaned against a dusty car, the murk further contributing to the splashes of brown and grey that stained our clothes; a glorious collection of specimens, ranging from disgusting bacteria to dried ketchup. Well, I wasn’t too sure which was the more disgusting of the two.

Dawn wrapped its violet arms around the town, suffocating it with cement-grey clouds and thick, inky darkness. The stars flickered here and there, and Bedlam threw a little orb into the air. Glowing in their typical rancid green, the device gifted us something vivid in this vast expanse of . . . boredom. 

“Do you ever think about it?” Bedlam asks, head cocked to the side, tone almost nonchalant. Not very fitting for the question at hand, but I chose not to comment. 

It took me a good couple of minutes to place the words together in my mind, run through every response and decide which one was worth voicing. I nibble my fingernails, earning a disgusted look from Bedlam, and narrow my eyes once more. I tuck a lock of hair behind my eyes, scratch my temple, and toy with the hem of my crop top. 

“No,” I mumbled, to which Bedlam rolled their eyes.

“Don’t lie to me, Hades.” They said, kicking a pebble onto a dented trashcan. We stop by a streetlight, bathe under the light, and Bedlam tucks the device into their pocket. 

“I would never,” I chuckle, flinging a bracelet at them. I’m met with a toothy grin, one that made this town worth staying in.

“Want to bother Donna at the diner again?” They ask, raising a brow.

“Didn’t she just close?” I replied, arms crossed.
“Oh please, you believed that filthy—”

“Bedlam.”

“Fine. Come on!”

Off to Donna then.

swc daily - 25
swc july '24

word count: 471

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



Prem could feel his heart shrivel, clinging onto the skin of his chest, tugging and scratching and forcing his lungs to heave. Heave even to steal the slightest breath, but all he gets is smoke and ash and the stench of corpses littered beneath the buildings.

He desperately searches for hers, glad that her blood-red hair is nowhere to be seen. For once, he was greatly for that ghastly colour. He sprints over the rubble, rocks digging into the soles of his tattered shoes, cement practically giving up beneath him with each step. Maybe it was sand or something.  He was quick, of course, and the danger of falling onto the jagged ground added a little . . . fun to the mix.

His patron stretches across the vast expanse of the sky, with glowing eyes, streaky pink hair, and a morbid smile painted on its ‘face’ with a flock of crows. Its skin seemed to be bathed in turmeric, but that must just be. . . the sky. His patron was made of the sky. Lovely, oh gosh.

The fire roared, spreading through the buildings, seemingly racing towards him. Or his sword.

“There is no need for this!” He screams, knowing better than to look up. He receives a skeleton of a response: a slight shift in the breeze, a little hesitation from the nearby flames. 

Everything resumes almost instantly.

The flames are relentless, just as she is. Patrons, what is she doing?

His eyes narrow, fists clench, toes curl and sweat drips into his mouth. The world begins to bend and twist as if made of water. The heat. Wasn’t he immune?

A star glows in the sky, nearly as brilliant and bright as his partner. Prem grips his sword, and wonders if the corpses beneath would feel just like—

That is a strange thought.

The star grows and grows and grows . . . until Prem realises—

Where was Inaaya?
 
His heart claws at his ribs, at his skin, begging to leap out of his body. Matted hair covered his eyes, drenched in sweat and smoke and ash and . . . Where was Inaaya? His clothes stuck to his skin, shrinking almost, making it harder to move, heavy like the sword drooping from his fingers.

The gates of whatever archive resides in his skull swing open, and as he runs, Prem finds himself overcome with every little detail of, well, everything. 

His mother’s disdain towards rice, his brother’s broken watch collection, the rings he’d lost at the altar.

And then he sees her. 

The image of her hair swaying in the wind, glistening skin, glaring at her fingers, and he could hear the gears in her head as they turned. She’d greet him absently, with a lazy smile, always preoccupied with something far more important than he’d ever be. He grins.

Inaaya, he needed to see—

Light. 

swc daily - 2
swc november '24

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



word count: 315
profile: claya
quote: the earth keeps growing, the towns are ruins

note: a lot of the plant names are based on urdu words! and that was fun, quite challenging too. ive been working on non-human povs for a few ocs of mine, and this character is one that i want to read as mature and caring. ofc not much i could do with 300 words, but i really wanted their pov for this concept (as they are a nature god-ish thing)

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



My kind does not lament over shattered brick and spilt blood, for I doubt we have any.

But we frown as the children scream, reaching towards the greedy flames, eyes wide as their seemingly eternal homes cease to exist. The families will find someplace else, and the pain will pass. My eyes shift to a shrine at the heart of the fire. It was covered in vibrant ujalath leaves and ashiqua flowers, their burgundy petals nothing but ash. My idol remains spotless, surrounded by layers upon layers of enchantments. After a new town is built, they will return to take it with them.

I will cleanse the earth the moment the flames rest, replenish the mud and urge the plants to return. I will decorate the space with the bright yellow of navak vines and the maalath glittering copper bark. Countless nuctaas will rest at the base of the trees, a ring of dull pinks and violets. I imagine the sour scent of taarnahls, their fruits renowned for their poison, and am reminded of a town not so far from here. It suffered a similar fate, but at my brother's hands, rather than sheer misfortune.

The towns always crumble. Whether it is as swift as twilight fades into night, or as drawn out as the lives of gods, they always do. When I was much younger, it pained me to see them leave and sob and rot. But life does not start and end with them. I've seen blades of grass as tall as boulders, luscious moss blankets all over caves, and fields with more flowers than stars in the sky. The ash has never marked the end; it provides me with a slate to unleash my creativity.

My kind does not lament over shattered brick and spilt blood, for we have so much more than that. The mortals, on the other hand, do not.

swc daily - 13
swc november '24

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



word count: 213
song inspired by: royal we - janani

note: so hehehe vague fanfic anybody? this might be pretty recognisable honestly. i wanted to deviate a bit from the song, because it is about hera's relationship with zeus. this is not about someone inherently selfish, but about watching a relationship spiral into something without seeming to have any control of it. it's about two people losing themselves at the same thing, rather than one sacrificing for the other

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



She didn't recognise him.

A white blaze behind him, greedy as it roars and consumes. The way his armour caught the light, his scar ebbed and flowed, and his eyes flickered between brown and gold. His arm gripped his sword with a certainty she missed, one she'd only seen in photographs and nightmares in the past few years.

And for a moment, nothing seemed worth it.

All these years of turmoil and bloodshed and bickering, it all seemed to amount to nothing.

It's because nothing could have prepared her for the sheer callousness on his face — that heroic determination to fight for his stupid cause, no matter whose heart his sword stabs through. Countless hours wasted in the arena, telling herself she'd get her retribution if it were the last thing she'd do.

She didn't want it anymore. All she wanted was to go back to a time when the love of her life didn't trade his soul for an idea, an idea that had lost itself to time and greed.

That boy was worth more than that. Her life was worth more than that.

The shrill noise of his sword scratching the marble brought her back. His gaze met hers.

“Shall we begin?” He drawled.

She wished she never met him.

swc weekly 2
swc november '24

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



word count: 236+373+547=1156

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.



part one

word count: 236

The city of Abstin has been on edge. What was once a melting pot of diverse cultures and species has morphed into a mere shell of its former glory. The recent decades have ruined the lives of thousands, and the Monarch's rule must end.

No matter what the cost.

The Adluxi has been tirelessly planning for years, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And, after so many generations, the Monarch's rule has never been weaker. You see hope in your leader's eyes — faint but unmistakable.

The room is dull and decorated with cobwebs, as one would expect with an abandoned dungeon. It's grown to be your second home in the past few months. The walls are covered with maps, letters, legalities and newspaper clippings. Magic laces the air, almost suffocating. You duck as you enter through the splintered door. A large table has been placed in the centre, chipped and wobbly.

“Have we secured the poisons?” Qui speaks, hunched over several maps, fiddling with the collar of their shirt.

“Done, and the workers have been briefed.” Says Juice, arms crossed, lurking in a corner.

“Perfect. The Monarch's not going to know what hit them.” Izzi muses, cleaning their longsword, seated beside Qui.

All of their gazes meet yours, and Qui promptly shoots up to their feet.

They give you a faint smile before saying, “Took you long enough. Now, let's get this rebellion started.”

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


part 2




.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


part 3

word count: 373

There lived a certain Monarch in Abstin long ago
He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow
Most people look at him with terror and with fear
But to Abstin rich he was such a lovely dear

He could preach the Centus like a preacher
Full of ecstasy and fire
But he also was the kind of ruler
The filth would keep in power

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey

There lived a certain Monarch in Abstin long ago
He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow
Most people look at him with terror and with fear
But to Abstin rich he was such a lovely dear

He could preach the Centus like a preacher
Full of ecstasy and fire
But he also was the kind of ruler
The filth would keep in power

Ab-Ab-Abluxi
Killers of the Abstin king
The Monarch really was thankfully gone
Ab-Ab-Abluxi
Abstin’s greatest hope machine
It was no shame how they won

But when the Monarch grew insane
And his hunger for power
Became known to more and more people
The demands to do something
About this outrageous man
Became louder and louder

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey

“This man's just got to go”, declared the Albuxi
But the rich begged, “Don't you try to do it, please”
No doubt the Monarch had lots of hidden charms
Though he was a brute, they just fell into his arms

Then one night some men of higher standing
Set a trap, they're not to blame
“Come to visit us”, they kept demanding
And he really came

Ab-Ab-Abluxi
Killers of the Abstin king
The Monarch really was just a wretched fool
Ab-Ab-Abluxi
Abstin’s greatest hope machine
Their swift and sneeky and they’re good with their tols

Ab-Ab-Abluxi
Abstin’s greatest hope machine
And so they shot him 'til he was dead
Oh, those Abluxi

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


part 4

word count: 547

“How are the nobles doing?”

“They appreciate the increased security, though they are on edge. As one would expect.”

“The merchants?”

“They keep on whining, as usual.”

Sunlight trickled in through stained-glass windows the size of trees, and a glittering throne of gold stood in front of crimson curtains. The fabric matched the Monarch's favourite cape, a thick fabric embroidered by Paritus' finest. The floors were dark marble with veins of silver, each tile holding a different spell. And so the air was heavy with magic, just as every room in the palace. The general, the jester, and several advisors were gathered around a crescent table, hunched over the wood after many sleepless nights. The dark wood was covered in heaps of parchment, quills, and vials of potions and inks. It was more a slab of wood than a table, hefty and demanding of one's attention.

The Monarch fetched a glass of water from the corner of the room. His silk shirt looked more ivory than white, adorned with a splatter of ink or two. His violet trousers were rolled up to his knees while his lace cape was sprawled across the floor beside the throne. He raked a hand through his silver hair, brows furrowed and gleaming with sweat.

“Stress does not look good on me, does it?” He said, making his way to the centre of the room. He placed the glass on a map of the city, careful not to tip it over and waste all his annotations. He pinched the bridge of his sharp nose, letting out a drawn-out groan.

“Have we any idea of how these lunatics got hold of the poisons?” A baritone voice asked, aged yet not very wise. An elder from the Cruda family, short and stout, with a tall glass of wine wrapped tightly in his hand. The Monarch walked towards the windows, brown skin painted in hues of green and blue. His fingers danced gently along the cames.

“The city keeps murmuring, and I cannot stand it.” He drawled, sharp eyes focused on the cityscape before him.

“You'd have to bathe the streets with blood to get rid of those. The Abluxi have gained some influential allies in the past few months, but I'm sure we can lure them with the right price.” The jester quips, a lanky woman dressed in an intricate patchwork of exotic fabrics. There were homes in Southside worth a single thread of her robes. Her hair cascaded down her back, dishevelled and dark.

“Our informant is secure, correct?” The Monarch asked, walking back to the table. He scrambled to search for a series of letters — ones written in an ancient code of the royal line.

“Oh, most certainly.” The jester grinned dangerously wide, sharp teeth proudly on display.

“Good, good . . .”

The conversation marched on. The rich were keen to please, a jester who was just here to have some fun, and a ruler who was dangling off a cliff. The Albuxi's command over Abstin and the bordering cities had become a mystery of sorts due to the sheer speed of it all. Suddenly, riots sprouted around the region, and new flags, songs, and names emerged.

And the Monarch's grip over the city grew tighter and tighter and tighter.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


word war proof: “Of course I expected the mushroom to talk! What did you think?”

Mages were fantastical things. Always blubbering some nonsense or the other. But this? I stood there, frozen in shock. Talking mushrooms? The sir had gone in insane. I grabbed Mace's hand and dragged him towards the massive oak tree. It's bark was purple, it's leaves a vibrant crimson. I wondered how one could used to sights such as these. marvellous works of nature, just . . . normal. It seemed wrong. I couldn't believe my eyes when the mage smiled, wide and toothy.

swc daily - 19
swc november '24

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


word count: 302
title: specially, wholly cared

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


The house smelled of cinnamon and rose. Golden hour had blessed the space, painting every object in a regal orange hue. It was Prem's favourite time of day, and Inaaya was thankful they could enjoy it together.

He was sprawled across their navy loveseat, legs practically hooked over its arms. He scraped his nails along the fabric while Inaaya opened a tin of cookies. She plucked out the pistachios from the top of one and brought it to Prem, who smiled as he snatched it from her grip. Gosh, he was always starving in the mornings.

She strolled back to the kitchen, glancing at a few photographs they'd placed on the fridge. After months of torturous searching, she'd bought a few magnets that resembled peonies. The pictures, in the condition they were in, seemed to be as old as time. Brown and grainy and covered in splatters, but far too precious for her to do anything about it. They were Prem's favourites.

Water bubbled away in the pot — for his morning cup of water — and music filled the room. Oh, how Inaaya loved Prince. She hummed along, tapping her knuckles on the marble counter, her lips forming a faint smile.

Prem managed to sneak in a hug from behind, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if he were a koala. His red sweater was enviously soft, just like that messy mane of hair that he couldn't bother to maintain.

“You're going to kill me,” Inaaya teased, and Prem mumbled something into the crane of her neck. He smelled of that tacky perfume from last night. Gosh, how long did that thing last?

“I love you,” he whispered, slowly pulling away. She smiled, turned her back towards the counter, and tried to straighten some of his hair.

“Love you too.”

swc daily - 26
swc november '24

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


word count: 213

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


Mauve never liked the outdoors. They never enjoyed the sun wrapping itself around them, suffocating and burning, or how the wind made it a point to ruin their hairdo. They liked the indoors, though sometimes, it felt like the walls were just inching and inching towards . . .

Leave it. Move on.

There was always this insatiable craving to be content. Joyous, even. Yet Mauve couldn't help but notice that cracks and creases in every single thing, and once the faults revealed themselves, it's hard to ignore them.

It was exhausting, never settling on what to do and what not to — always a con, always a pro, and always an elaborate back-and-forth. Sometimes, it drove them to a darker shade out of deep frustration, and others, a grey pallor came over them out of monotony.

But their brightest moments were when they found a sort of rhythm, an ebb and flow in their mind. A witty retort sneaked into the dilemma, and a laugh or two escaped their thin lips. Conversations with themselves seemed productive, ingenious, and even insightful. It was a refreshingly positive outlook on their trains of thought.

That's when they could bear the warmth pouring through the windows, perhaps enough to open them and let the breeze in.

swc daily - 27
swc november '24

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


word count: 411
elements: skeptic, fantasy, comfort place, ambiguity

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.


Inaaya had found the ruins a while back, perhaps a week or two. She recognised parts of the stone bookshelves and half of the crescent-shaped front desk that greeted her every single day in a time long gone.

She sat beside half of a pillar, back pressed against and legs crossed. Locks of hair snuck beneath her broken spectacles as they slid down the bridge of her nose. Gods, it was frustrating. She plucked out her journal from her back, a pen she stole from Prem, and a cloth to wipe the dust off her hands.

The smell of muck weighed down the hazy air. She felt it coat her mouth, disgustingly enough. Sharp and bitter. Sunlight weaved through the blocks of cement, painting the grey in shades of yellow. As she gripped the pen, she noticed how the skin of her fingers had finally begun to harden. She brushed her hair back, mourning the loss of a partner to cut her hair.

“Knew I'd find you here!”

The bright voice startled her, even more so than its familiarity. She rushed to grab her sword, its blade still covered in blood, and stood up. Her breathing quicked, and jagged nails dug into the flesh of her palms. His steps echoed through the space, tainting it thoroughly. Let her have this at least, for the sake of—

“You don't seem pleased. I scare you that much?”

She screeched as he appeared beside her. Quick and sly as ever, the wretched thing. “You've grown slow. You can't always rely on those trusty spells, you know?”

“It's too early for all these questions,” she grumbled, raising the sword to his chest.

“Do you have to be so hostile? Like a cactus, or something,” he whined, pouting his lips and batting his lashes. His hair was bathed in grease, and his skin was covered in fresh scars and dried blood.

“You could've taken a bath, you animal,” she said.

“You're one to talk.” Prem retorted, flashing her a wide grin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, digging the tip of her blade into the fabric of his t-shirt. She noticed his new pair of earrings, chunky gold blocks the size of her fingernails. Had time to shop, had he?

“I'm here to help a friend out,” he drawls. His daggers remained in their sheaths, and Inaaya was certain he had no other weapons. He hated everything besides those tiny excuses of blades.

“Help?”

He smirks, a golden glow in his eyes and palms. Inaaya's eyes widen, and before she can move, he grabs her wrist.

“Of course.”