hey there! perhaps i'll add an intro here later - until then, you can be warned that any novel content (in addition to dailies and weeklies) below is likely to be entirely unedited – i apologize for the incoherence likely to follow my lack of planning <3

november 1st - introductions
1000 words, already claimed points for goals

hey there! around here, i usually go by either moonsy and moonlit, depending on when you met me and how well you know me, but i’ve often been subject to a number of other nicknames, including, but certainly not limited to, moony, moonsyanna, and more recently, moomoo? i may have brought that one upon myself (oops), but it’s quite alright – for the most part, i’m happy to let you use whichever related nickname makes you happy <3 i use she/her pronouns, usually reside in the delightful land of central standard (/daylight) time (with an occasional venture to eastern standard (/daylight) time), and would consider myself to be an aspiring writer, bookworm without quite enough time, designer of graphics, player of board games, acrobat and performer, and a very curious lover of learning. i take pride in my willingness to try new things, determination to think and see the world for myself, and compassion towards others, and, if asked, i would tell you that the thing i value most about myself as a leader, a writer, and a person is my dedication to curiosity. as i grow older and am extended more and more opportunities to pursue a path of my choosing, i think one of my greatest aspirations will always be to travel and see the world – i want to explore the australian coastlines and reefs, to see the wildlife of the africa savanna, to witness the innovation of the world around us, and to learn and preserve the history and humanity that historical landmarks have to offer. on some level, i would say a huge strength and fault of mine is my ambition – i’m someone who wants to push limits, to improve, and to go beyond every expectation, and while i would say that i want to prove that i am capable of doing everything they ask and more to others, i would more so say that i want to show myself that no matter how old i grow or how much i learn, there will always be more. that aside, reading has been a huge part of my life since i was little – as the child of an english teacher who has spent a fair amount of time (and then some) curled up in the corner of a couch exploring fantastical and historical worlds, i’ve read a decent share of children’s and middle grade literature. i haven’t been the biggest fan of more young adult-targeted novels, nor have i really had time to be more recently, but i still do my best to put everything else aside to read every now and then. one of my current favorite novels in babel – i love how it combines history with fantasy, linguistics with magic, and offers countless ideas on a multitude of topics that could still be applied to our world today. in particular, i really enjoyed the fictional lectures on language and translation – as a writer, language is such a precise and variable things that the volatility of translation becomes something fascinating to consider. some of my other favorite books also include six of crows, shadow and bone, legend, the young elites, paper towns, the fault in our stars, and turtles all the way down. some other fandoms i would say i’m definitely familiar with from there books are keeper of the lost cities, hunger games, percy jackson (and assorted other series from that same universe), and harry potter. similarly, some favorite shows and movies of mine include star wars, particularly the last season of clone wars and ahsoka, marvel cinematic universe, especially loki, thor’s movies, and spiderman’s movies, arcane, and shadow and bone. i’ve also recently found myself rewatching the how to train your dragon movies and a bit of the netflix series in honor of the delightful fantasy – those dragons and dragon riders and so much fun! a few novels i’m hoping to read in the near future include i fell in love with hope, looking for alaska, and all the light we cannot see, and in the event that you’ve actually been reading through all of this, i would be delighted to exchange book recommendations <3 if i could be anywhere in the world right now, i would love to see paris, venice, amsterdam, rome, and london – so perhaps one of those? venice and rome strike me as particularly interesting because i would very much like to spend some time learning more about the italian language and their culture, as someone who is part italian. for similar reasons, i would also love to spend some time in poland and lithuania sometime – though perhaps that’s an adventure for future moonlit? in the mean time, i’ve been learning spanish for the past twelve years in school, though taking in more seriously in the past two, and have recently started trying to learn french – as another romance language, it’s grammatical structures have been similar enough to spanish so far that i think it’s definitely helped! it’s also really interesting to see how different languages express different sentiments. one aspiration of mine is definitely to learn to speak different languages in order to communication with people from a variety of places without an assumption of speaking english – i’d also love to spend some time reading literature in it’s original languages, though i imagine greek and latin would also be great for that. i believe this one thousand intro challenge is nearly done, and if, for some reason, you are still reading these words, i’d like to thank you for your dedication to whatever you’re up to – whether or not i’d really like to know ahahaha <3 if i were a toy, i imagine i’d be a teddy bear – always willing to listen, and with a story of mine own to tell too. i’m also very much a hug person, which i think would be very fitting, and i do my best to be there for and comfort others. happy swc, and i’m looking forward to writing with you all!

nano novel - november 1st
1673 words, no main cabin points

Chapter 1 - Paris

When she woke up, the first thing Paris realized was that she was alone. There was no one besides her, in front or behind – just her, skin already trembled in the cold that eveloped her. She reached up, feeling with her tiny gold chain around her next – a miniscule cross, a symbol of the religion she had clung to, even as the world around her shattered to pieces. In the shards of her memory, she saw a bridge, a box of matches discarded at her feet. She saw the waters roaring beneath her, the skyline of a falling city rumbling in the distance.

But it hadn’t been hers. Wherever she had been, it hadn’t been at home. She had been lost, a child left aloft to the sea of chaos that had brought havoc upon her world, a world a grand cathedrals and elegant drapings, of ceremonies and prestigious awards. Paris was born into a world of wonders, only to fall below reality as facades broke apart.

“Where am I?” she breathed, the light, musical sound of her voice echoing around her head. She was alive – or so she thought. Paris could see little but the fog that shrouded her view, and felt nothing but cold, solid ground behind the palms of her hands.

Wherever she was, no one answered. Silence echoed through the fog, and Paris lay back, closing her eyes and her head rested against the ground beneath her.

It was cold, hard, just as the city streets had been, after Paris had been pushed out. Children had become invalued liabilities to the Project, and Paris, regardless of her education, of her knowledge and connections, had been pushed out along side them. That wasn’t to say she was spoiled, left to rot in the rays of privilege – Paris had fought to earn the education she was given, and then some. With nothing but textbooks and imagination to keep her company through the dark, stormy nights, Paris had learned to fend for herself, and to teach herself all there was for her to know.

And so, when the time came, Paris had learned to be a survivor. She had learned to pick up where she was left off, to keep herself well fed and watered, to find shelter to rest and medicine for the cold. Where many found resources scarce, Paris had found plenty – her intuition for opportunity was on point, and her determination would forever have her back. She had awoken somewhere new, but she would survive – just as she had quickly learned, and just as she always would.

Yes, she would survive, she nodded to herself. She needed no one and nothing, and she would always make it in this world.

-

Some walking later, Paris had realized that there was very, very little in this world but dust, fog, and, well, more dust. The streets were cold and empty, not a tire track in sight, broken only by occasional wreckage of ruins and patches of muddy grass. Water, she would have no issue with, she thought, as she bent down to feel the liquid of a puddle. It was clean, far cleaner that most she had found in the city. Remembering her earlier ambition as she had picked herself up off the ground hours earlier, she smiled. She was off to a good start.

Glancing up towards the horizon, Paris noted the quietly setting sun – time, she knew, was of the essence with the waning light. Without light, there was little she could do to sense passing dangers, to keep herself out of harm’s way and to protect herself when it crept up anyways. Danger was a curious thing – just went you thought you were away from arm’s reach, it’s claws curled in, snatching her up from far closer than she ever would have foreseen. So when the sun set, Paris would have to settle down too, for her city truly must sleep at night.

Kicking up a little rock, Paris waved the fog away from her face, looking on to the road ahead of her. Somewhere in the near distance, she could just make out a tower through the fog. It looked old, but still standing – as far as shelter went, this was the best she would find before sundown. It would have to do.

She began to jog forward, cautiously, as not to risk injury. To trip and fall would be to risk cuts, many of which would quickly become infecting – not a risk she could afford to take, with no knowledge of her surroundings beyond her immediate path. She had time, just enough time, to reach her destination if she kept a decent pace, and so that is what she would do.

As Paris approached, the tower, it became clear that it belonged to a church. One of her churches, in fact – it’s style was reminiscent of the many cathedral her parents had brought her to as a child, hoping their little girl would grow up graced by the wisdom of saints. Even after her parents had left her behind, Paris still found refugee in the elegant domes she had long sung beneath – there, she knew, she would always be welcome. She was a child, and the churches would also be her home to return to.

And so, as she approached the enormous engraved entryways, she tilted her head with respect before raising her eyes to the tower. It did not bear a clock face, but soon the bells would ring – soon, the hour would pass and the sun would set. It had not yet stirred – she still had time to get inside.

Churches, she had long since learned, had ceased to leave their doors open not long before the world had shattered. If she wanted to find herself inside the grand house of worship, she would have to find her own way in – more often then not, through splintered stained glass windows, airflow archways, or occasionally, through the reverberating chamber of the bells.

Fortunately, there was a clean, open arch not fall about the main doors, leaving little breaking and entering work for Paris to do. Sizing up the sculpted arch around the doorway, she took hold of a stone vine, planting her feet in the nooks where the walls dove in, and began to climb. Simple, easy enough, and efficient – soon enough, Paris was sitting comfortably in the open window, neither inside the church nor out.

Shifting her attention to the descent to come, Paris squinted to adjust her eyes to the interior’s lack of light. She would have to find some candles – but first, she need a way to find her feet back on true flooring. Just to her left, half a pill portruded from the wall – there was little left for her to do but take hold and slide to ground level.

Once on her feet, Paris paused to take in her surroundings. On neat bookshelves, books sure to be filled with hymns and psalms lined up neatly, as if soldiers waiting to be commanded. They were a faded red, though their leather binding looked clean and unripped – they were clearly old, though fairly unused. Interesting, considering their entryway location, though she supposed most had long ceased to worship in the sacred houses. Perhaps the books were little but a sign of the times.

The tiled floor beneath her feet showed equally pristine, yet faded conditioning – where gold specks laid, they continued to shine, yet there was little color to them but that given by the rays of the falling sun. As the bells began to clang from on high, Paris jumped before straightening herself out, reminded of the candles she needed to find. She may have found shelter within the church, but light was still esential to her safety. And, if she was being honest, her comfort. Paris had never been fond of the dark.

As she began to walk down the isle, in search of the candles that would surely surround the alter, Paris relaxed her shoulders, feeling her muscles loosen with the reassurance of her safety. She had nothing to fear here – this was her home. One of her homes. A place she could call home – or perhaps just a place she could look for shelter. For Paris, that would have to be enough.

When she reached the alter, she picked up the box of matches she found at its foot and moved to light a candle just to her left. The bells had stoped, and all sunlight had faded from view. Only the moon remained to shed light through the stained glass windows, illuminating Paris and she sparked her match and sent fire to the wick of the flame.

The space around Paris lit with a warm, flickering candlelight, and the alter’s white marble shined. To Paris, this was the majesty of churches – the simple, yet regal beauty their centerpieces brought, and the way the warm light felt like home.

She was safe, she was warm. Somewhere in the church, there would be food and water for the priests she had yet to see or hear, and somewhere in the church, she might find a second pair of shoes, perhaps a set of clothes. Maybe she would even find money, paper currency locked away and lost to circulation after the rumbling of the world.

Maybe she would find someone. Someone who would take her in, someone who was willing to help.

Paris took pride in her independence, but she also missed her parents, missed the days she had someone to provide for her. To look out for her. Above all, Paris was still a child – she wanted to be happy, to live with out constant awareness of the world around her. She wanted to curl up, to cry. To feel safe, and to feel loved – to feel as if everything, yet nothing in her little world could ever really matter.

But she was a child of this world.

And this world would have none of that.

november 2nd - letters to future self
357 words, 400 points (including proof)

dear future self,

today thursday, november second. right now, you are currently gloriously confident in your ability to pull schoolwork together and make it happen despite all lacks of time, and currently writing this letter instead of doing chemistry homework, heading to sleep so that you can wake up earlier and have time to work tomorrow morning, and reading through either your apush or your english, or even self studying french or practicing your spanish. perhaps you’ll laugh at me then, but for now, i hope you know that well, things will always improve. maybe you already know this, living in the future, or maybe you’re having a rough day. maybe you’re wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into this time, or maybe you’re proud of yourself, confident in your ability to continue to move forwards. regardless, i’m sure you’ve got this, perhaps even more sure than i am that i got this right now.

in regards to writing, you’re currently on track to finish nano in perfect time, though you doubt you will continue to have the time to commit to it. you wish yourself the best of luck, but in the end, it’s all just for fun – it’s nice to sit down and write a novel with a concept and absolutely no planning, to let the words flow with no judgement or “good” or “bad”. whatever happens in the next month, i hope you write something, maybe even a novel, that you’re proud of, or can at least look back on to see how you’ve improved, and i hope you know that whatever you do, your past self is happy for you.

right now, you’re looking forward to a model un conference on saturday, though you’ll admit to being less than prepared right now. you really want to win one of those awards, but you’re still pretty new to this – some things take time and practice, and you’re ready to commit both. you want something, and you will put everything you have into going after it – you hope you don’t ever loose that sheer determination and dedication to chasing your dreams.

with love,
your past self

november 3rd - character development through fall symbolism
453 words, 600 points (including proof)


When autumn wind blows, the sea of leaves rises, yearning to be free of near-baren branches.


Reine sits on a cold, wooden bench, her back to the one who sits beside her. Her arms are crossed loosely, not so much to suggest discomfort, but rather unease. She’s restless, waiting for a the other – her other – to say something, anything.

Pierre sits beside her, eyes on the aurete sunset along the horizon. He wants to say something, to tell her what he knows she already knows. He wants to hear the sound of her voice, her musical laugh as she smiles, but he knows they’ve already left the sentiment far behind.


They rise and fall, leaning into the wind, pulling against their stems;


Reine sighs, quietly, as not to attract the notice of the other. The silence, while at first bearable, is becoming suffocating, subtly snatching the air from her lungs, the heartbeat rising in her chest. She needs to say something, to let the words out–

but they aren’t hers to give.

Pierre sighs, feeling the air leave his lungs, venturing out into the world beyond. He knows she’s restless, waiting for him to say the words they’ve both been waiting for – they’re his to give, but he can’t. He won’t. To let the words out would be to let go–

but he’s never been as brave her.


when they find their leap of faith,


Reine has to break the silence, to shatter the glass. “Pierre–”

Pierre has to stop her. Stop this. Right now, before she could say more. Before she could unveil the truth he had so recklessly left exposed, shatter all the moments they’d ever known. “Reine–”

“We need to talk. About this– about everything.”

He sighs. Reine knows he means nothing but the best – or maybe she just knows he would never hurt her. But she needs to talk, and so they will – she knows he wouldn’t walk away, leave her questions still standing, unanswered in the dark. Not yet.


they set themselves free.


Pierre hesitates, the words still caught up in his mouth. After a moment, he knows. He’s already made his choice. He’d made it years ago, when he first found his way to the cathedral, to the sanctuary they’d all come to call home.

“You know– you know I care about you, Reine. But I can’t–won’t–follow you into your Unknown. You’re brave and adventurous, confident and bold. You’re always looking for something more, something new. The dark beckons you, calls your name. But all I’ve ever wanted to do is turn on the light. And I could never–” Pierre’s voice breaks. His resolve falters, if only for a moment. “I could never leave them all behind.”

november 4th - constellation orgin stories
428 words, 400 points (including proof)

dear future leo,

today is november fourth, nineteen forty one. as you look down below, it’s easy to see nothing but war and bloodshed, pain and suffering. it’s easy to see the worst, all the things your kingdom should never be. but behind the tears, the heartbreak and the sorrow, you see a deep, unbreakable love. humanity’s love for each other, and your love humanity. even in the dark, you find a way to turn on a light, to remember that even when it sets, the sun will always be there. it will always rise again.

you think this is why you’ll be a good king. someday, when you step up to lead your kingdom, you’ll lead it with compassion, with understanding. you are the lion – you must dominate, but to you have the choice to lead without pushing others aside. you will be the king of the hill, the victor of the lion’s peak – but you want to be a victor for the people, the animals, the creatures of your kingdom. you need not have victims to be victorous – you need to listen, to emphasis, and to remember why you take the crown.

you know that you will have all of this, and so much more. you know that you will be older and wiser than you could ever have dreamed, and you know that wherever you go, you will always have hope. you will always see the light, even in the dark.

with love,
leo minor

-

dear leo minor,

even all the years later, you still remember how young, how naive you were. you were the light you looked for in the dark, the radiant heart filled with joy and compassion. you are everything i’ve long since lost, the young, lighthearted joy you used to know. but still, you think you would be proud.

you’ve done a lot, practically it all. you’ve watched countless human conflicts from afar, watching life come and go, waves rising and falling along a shoreline. you’ve seen the rise of mass production, alongside the rise of mass destruction, of the animal kingdom and of the humankind’s very own. you’ve listen to a thousand voices, a million screams in pain, a thousand pleas for hope.

you are, above all, tired. you’ve tried, done your best to protect them all. you’ve lead with compassion, rendering judgement on those deemed unworthy, protecting the innocent lives within your power. you wish you could have done better – but then again, you tried. trying will have to be enough, for you and for me.

with love,
leo

november 5th - word wars
255 words, 125 points (including prompt)

prompt - “dear diary, today I finally figured it out.” - PixelDucko

I am not a man but instead i am a muppet because that is what i am just like a cat is a cat and a dog is a dog and we are all what we are because that is what we are and a book is a book and a different book is also a book and a reader is book thingy that you read and a person who reads. Some things can be more than what they just are, or maybe they are what they just are. or maybe they are what they and are what they want to be, or maybe i will just never really know the truth because i am a man and i am a muppet and that is what i am and that is what i will always be maybe there are just two of me maybe there are more maybe there are less maybe i i do not even exist to begin with maybe this whole problem makes no sense at all and maybe that is okay because maybe some thing were never meant to make any sense to begin with and maybe this whole diary entry is a whole bunch of nonsense and maybe i should write everything i am feeling down so that i get it all out i think i am a man but i also think i was meant to be a muppet maybe i am a man with a muppet, or maybe i am a muppet with a man honestly who really

november 5th - critique for pixie
517 words, no points

original piece - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7625372/

On this autumn day, I breathe in the burgundy and out the gold, the rush of a new horizon drifting through me.

i love how you create a sense of imagery and set the mood for the piece right from the begin! that said, i’m not quite sure what you mean by “breathe in the burgundy and out the gold” – the burgundy what, and the gold what?

My footsteps pad in rhythm to my companion's, and the silence between us is certainly janus-faced; to them it is a fragile spindle, capable of breaking every moment, whereas I have the upper hand - and we both know it. For a long moment, I let my umber eyes meet their tawny, studying every contour and meander of their face. What are they feeling? They had a far higher capacity to endure, to feel. That was what made them so peculiar to me, and perhaps I to they, as well.

it is admittedly nitpicky, but i’m not sure how the word “janus-faced” fits into the rest of the sentence – you explain the companion’s perspective quickly and effectively, but at first glance, i’m not sure what about the silence gives both characters the feeling that the narrator has the upper hand, if that makes sense. that aside, i think you do a great job of developing the characters and their dynamic hear, and it draws me in a way that makes me what to read on and see what happens to them!

…each breath of steamy air fills me with… with hope. Hope that we can leave this day anew, and take a turn for the better. Both of us.

i love this bit – to me, it feels very human, and very authentic to the narrator’s voice

I find my eyes lingering on their motley harlequin cravat, before I slowly raise my gaze.

again, a bit nitpicky – but i think the word choice of “motley harlequin cravat” is little much here

“I'm sure you're aware of what-”
No, that was too harsh. I feel her chiding me once again, giving a gentle nudge towards sympathy. My heart thrums in my chest as I breathe the chilly air out, cast my eyes to the azure-streaked sky, and begin once again.

i love the characterization here – the emotions of the narrator and the spirit (if i’m understanding correctly?) are evident, and their intention and humanity is clear

…“However, life is too short to cling on to one single part. So…”

in contrast to the previous dialogue, this feels a little out of place – i don’t think it quite fits the tone of the piece, nor the narrator’s characterization and previous dialogue, though it does effectively speak to the narrator’s lack of a capacity to feel mentioned in the beginning

…Can I trust them? Will I trust them? These questions churn within the deepest chasms in my heart, twisting with enough power to force every vein apart and yet with enough faith to cling on to the edge of life with my fingertips, for them…

internal monoluges are some of my favorite things ever – i love how you expressed the internal conflict and thoughts of the narrator here, staying true to their characterization while further developing them as a living, breathing person

…— — come on, bud. open yourself.

I don't… I don't- I can't trust…

— — you can. think of me. think of everyone who had a hand. we all had our opinions, but we came together at the end.

Can I?

— — i believe in you.

more character development <33 i also really like how this further develop’s the spirit’s character – as you said, it is somewhat vague, but i think it also suits the story and character well

…But when I unleash the demons, I loose the reins. It takes me once again. And I took you too: took advantage of your faith and belief, took advantage of how purely and solidly you believed in me…

ooh i really like this – i think it is, to some extent, a monolgue, and a very effective one at that! i can also feel the narrator speaking out loud to me, and your ability to write honesty in a way that still stays true to the character is something i admire

…“I'm sorry too.”

Their voice, somehow gentle and piercing all at the same time, echoes in my ears.

kudos for saying a lot with a little here – i like how it contrasts with the narrator’s longer speeches, and i think it speaks well the companion’s ability to feel, and to express their emotion in their words

I would have once thought that they were being rather selfish, in only saying so little.
But I now understand that many wounds only have few cures - one of which is time.
And I'm fine with waiting for them.

and this – character development! it also does a very good job of backing you the previous dialogue, and for showing the characters’ dynamic, as well as the narrator’s growth

…They smile in turn, pausing to admire the intricate patterning.

“To our new beginnings.”

i think the ending here is a little fast, but still effective – overall, your characterization is very on-point, and i really like how you put the daily prompt to use! my two things to look out for in the future are words choice and pacing – sometimes, both can be a little much or a bit little. i really enjoyed reading through this, and thank you for letting me critique!

november 6th - weekly one
1454 words - 1500 points

Part One | 209 words

Lyrics - (All Too Well)
“Just close your eyes, the sun is going down
You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now
Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound”

Foxglove looks out at the world from the cathedral’s bell tower, quietly admiring the beauty of the rustic, yet subtly beautiful landscape. There’s not much here, but they think what they see is worth remembering.

Everything is worth remembering.

“I can hear you, you know,” Foxglove whispers, their voice barely audible over the light hum of the wind. Paris steps forward from behind them, bringing herself into the waning moonlight.

“I know. I didn’t want you to think you were all alone,” she replies, her voice soft and reassuring.

Foxglove nods, a quiet understanding passing between them. In spite of themself, they ask, “Are we ever really?”

Paris sighs, her silence gently echoing between the steel and stones.

Aren’t we always?

But she can’t tell Foxglove that. They are too young, too naive, too willing to believe in the innocence of the world. And maybe, despite everything they’ve both seen and done, they deserve that innocence.

“Sometimes,” she says, looking down at the stones beneath their feet. “But we have each other. And I will never let you be alone.”

It was true – she would shelter Foxglove until the world tore her from their side.

They nod, quietly reassured.

“Me too,” they say, eyes still on a faraway place.


Part Two | 184 words

Name: Foxglove
Pronouns: they/them
Sexuality: currently unknown
Species: presumed human

strengths:
thoughtful: foxglove, despite their young age, has had a very, very long time to think about the world and their place in it. they are mindful of others, and understand that while some truths may never be spoken, others can mean a lot to people
observant: noticing almost everything about the world around them, physically and otherwise, foxglove has a remarkable memory and capacity for details. this also helps to give them an affinity for animals – though they’ve long been absent from human civilization, they’ve spent a lot of time with and caring for animals, wild and otherwise

weaknesses:
lonely: it’s been a very, very long time since foxgloves has known human company, and as a result, has come to a lack of trust in other humans. they’ve never really found someone to connect with, but desperately need a friend
quiet: words aren’t something that come easily to foxglove. they are often reluctant to express their thoughts and feelings, instead opting to sit quietly and listen to others. this makes them empathetic, but also plays into their loneliness


Part Three | 583 words

scenario one (185 words) -
foxglove - rehersing an apology they’ll never get to give

“I’m sorry,” Foxglove mumbles, the words barely falling out their lips.

No. That wouldn’t be enough – not for Paris, not for their friendship.

They try again, closing their eyes to imagine the scene in their head. “I’m sorry. For walking away. For leaving you behind. I know I hurt you…”

Foxglove’s voice trails off. Their words, they know, will never be enough. And they both know Foxglove was hurt too. Where bonds were broken, only time could heal the broken cords – but time was a luxury they could hardly afford.

So Foxglove tried again.

“Paris,” they whispered, speaking to their friend long gone, “I’m sorry. For walking away. For leaving you behind. I know I hurt you, and I need you to know that I was hurt too.”

They pause, letting the weight of their own words sink it.

“But…” they swallow, blinking back a glistening tear. “I miss you, Paris. I wish we could rebuild the glass bridges we built to shatter. I wish we could be together, there for each other again. And I wish…

I wish we could never really be alone.”


scenario two (160 words) -
foxglove and paris - sitting on a bridge

Foxglove sat with their feet dangling towards the oddly still river below, held tilted gently towards Paris.

Paris laid on the barren moss-trickled stones, head resting on her arms, eyes on the sunset over the water.

Between them stood a quiet understanding, a feeling of being together. Of being not alone. Neither had need to speak to express their appreciation for the other – they simply needed to be there, with the other.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Foxglove asked, watching the reflection of the shimmering sunset in the sparkling waters.

Paris nodded, smiling at Foxglove. They were still young, but already so much more confident than when she had first met them.

“Yes,” she murmured, keeping her voice soft. “Even when the sun sets, it will always rise again. And where the river flows, it will always return.”

“Someday,” Foxglove smiled. “Some things take time.”

“So they do,” Paris laughed.

They both knew there was a greater truth to their words.


scenario three (193 words) -
foxglove and paris - goodbyes

“Foxglove, I–” Paris began, unsure of the direction she saw their conversation going.

“Paris,” Foxglove, whispered, arms curled around themselves. “I–”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. Paris couldn’t take the silence between them, the subtle ignorance of their conflicts anymore. “I– I can’t do this anymore. And I know you can’t either. This needs to stop.”

Foxglove bit their lip, doing their best to hold back the tears they feel slipping past the corner of their eyes. “But–”

“I know we’ve made promises. I know we said forever, that we’d let anyone tear us apart. But–” Paris hesitated. She knew what she needed to say. But she also knew what she was doing to them. “Foxglove, we are tearing us apart.”

Foxglove closed their eyes.
Breathe, they told themself.
It was going to be okay.

It wasn’t going to be okay.

“Paris,” they say, their voice breaking with the word. “I need you.”

“I need me too,” Paris answered, voice barely audible.

There was little Foxglove could do but watch, memories flashing behind their eyes, as Paris looked out at the bridge in from of them.

Taking a deep breathe in, she walked across.


Part Four | 523 words
character sheet - lonely, quiet, and thoughtful
(continuation of scenario three)

For a few moments after, Foxglove sat in disbelief. There was still little for them to do but to stare, to imagine all the things they should have done.

They should have stopped her.
They should have begged her to stay.
They should have been a better friend.

Maybe they were too young, too full of wants and needs for Paris to look after.

Maybe they gave too little, and took too much.

Maybe they didn’t deserve a friend.

Reaching into their pocket, Foxglove found a letter. Here, between worlds, things had a habit of showing up when you needed them most.

Still, it was both an act of mercy and infinite cruelty they should find this now.

Carefully, Foxglove broken it’s simple wax seal to read its contents:


Dear Future Foxglove,

I think you’ll remember the day you wrote this. It’s today that you met your a friend, one you already know you’ll learn to call family with time. You know you’re shy, reluctant to speak, and quick to avoid conflict, but you know know she understands. Or at least, she’ll learn to understand. You know you can trust her. You have to – she’s the only one you have, the only one you’ll ever have.

You still miss him, you know. Your brother – do you still remember how he used to care for you, how he loved you? You were inseparable, you and Forest. You were best friends, for whenever, wherever, and you would never leave each other behind. You promised – and when that promise was broken, you promised again.

That promise was broken too. Do you remember the day by the river, when you dipped your toes into its chilling waters? The water felt water, welcoming – you wanted to go for a swim. So you called to your brother, begging him to join you before jumping in. He’d tried to warn you, tried to stop you. But it was too late.

And so he had saved you. When you were swept away, a seedling torn from your roots, he had pull you back from the current, anchoring you away from the storm. But where one life is given, another must be taken – and so, in your place, the river swept him away.

At the time, you were too young to understand. You thought he’d come back up, out of the river, dripping wet and scolding you for what you’d done. Instead, you were left alone, left in the silent guilt of what you’d done. You wanted to be mad, furious at him for leaving you, for abandoning you when you needed him most – but somewhere inside, you knew it would always be your fault.

With time, I hope you learn to forgive yourself. What’s more, I hope you learn to be careful, to learn from your past. To protect yourself, to protect your future. To protect your friend, the only family you know. Maybe the only other family you’ll ever know.

I know you will never know an easy life. But I hope you learn to be happy. And above all, I hope you find yourself at home.

With love,
Foxglove

november 6th - summer's writing dare!
305 words - no points

The clock ticks.

And ticks.

And ticks.

Forwards, backwards.

Left, right.

Side to side–

and back again.

No matter which way it’s going, the motion is always the same – simple, clean, and elegant. Horologium takes pride in their precision, in the efficiency of their work.

Keeping time is a necessary task, and one they are honored to partake in. Still, the job is a tedious one, and by nature, tedium eventually becomes infinite.

Some days, Horologium can’t help but wonder why.

Why do they keep time, even as the lifeforms that watch him are ever-fleeting? Surely they must know that their lives will not last forever. To Horologium, a constellation, they barely seem to happen at all. A pity they would spend it watching their time tick away.

Why do they keep time, when they could, in the grand scope of the universe, be doing quite possibly anything else? They are eternal, and infinite representation of the scope of the universe. Even when all lifeforms who’s livelihoods depend on the ticks they count are gone, they will remain. They mean little to keep. Or so they tell themself.

Why don’t they care? Humans are after all, alive. They tell themselves that this means they have feelings, that they matter – but still, they are, as they had already noted, forever fleeting. Maybe it would hurt too much to care. Maybe Horologium wants to care. But they need to protect themself.

Maybe the why’s are what keep their work interesting. Horologium keeps time, but time is irrelevant to its keeper – it goes on, just as their life always will. Wondering reminds them that they are alive – and why they are alive.

(Are they alive?)

They do their best to assure themselves that they are.

After all, what is life, if not sentient awareness of the outside world?

november 6th - prompted word war
201 words, no points

No no no no no we absolutely cannot eat the mango today. it is thursday – thor’s day – and therefore we must be merciful in this council of free and will and equal justice for all. thor’s day means that we shall rule with thunder and lightning, which does of course mean showing fair judgement with no bias ever and well, we certainly do not love mangoes. no, of course not, why would we ever do that? so we shall rule in favor of the mango and rule and then the mango shall be saved because it is in fact thor’s day. What’s more, tomorrow will be loki’s day, and then the mango will be free to go and work mischief on the world because that is what a mango does and loki’s day and the mango is free to do as the mango wishes because we believe in free rights for all, mangoes included because mangoes are in fact sentiment beings, though the court does express their apologies for lack of coherency, as it is thor’s day and not oden’s day and thus we rule with thunder, but are not yet ready to rule with a wise counsel and well wording

november 6th - prompted word war
207 words, 125 points

They say the pretty red robin flies across the skies, free as a bird, light as anything. Up in the sky, she’s free to fly, free to see the world, free to look down on all the trapped creations below. Up in the sky, she can see the whole world, all the oceans and valleys, the corn and the canyons. She can see the mountains and the people, the angels and the devils among us, she can see the best of worst, the most beautiful and most ugly things humanity has to offer. Up there in the sky, the pretty red robin can judge us all with their glorious justice, can enlighten us with the wisdom of ages, can enchant us with the magic of clouds, and can see all the things there have ever been to see, all from up there in the sky. She is a bird, all thus has the wings on which she can fly free on. Here, i am a moon, forever watching, but never moving. To the people, i come and ago, waning in and out of perception, but still, static in the air, never to see more than i ever have before, never to explore the surface, to swoop across

november 6th - prompted word war
212 words, no points

Imagine what it would be like to fly, to be free on all burdens, of all worries. Imagine being swept up by the wind, left to float among its currents, left alone, at peace with the world. What would it be like to be free, to have nothing left to hold you back, to have no one and nothing who would scream your name, for better or for worse, beg you to come to go, to stay and to leave, to do something, anything for them, or simply to leave them alone. What would it be to be a pretty red robin, aloft on the wind, sing a lonely long song, because robins, we think, they fly alone. To be alone would not be such a bad thing - to be alone would be to be at peace, with no one left to judge; to be alone would be to have hope, for a future for yourself and no one else, to be alone would be to care for yourself, to set yourself free to see the world, to just all the places you’ve always wanted to, with no one else holding you back. To be alone would be to be lonely – perhaps that is the price you would pay for your eminent freedom

november 7th - prompted word war
194 words, 125 points

Maybe it would be a slight exaggeration to say that all my life, i’ve wanted to be a part of something as absolutely incredible as swc – i’ve only known abut swc for around the past four years of my life, though i suppose that has come to be quite a long time, though perhaps not all that long of a time, when you put time in perspective of the grand scheme of life. Anyhow, to lead and to host as part of swc truly is a dream come true – to be able tow ork with such an amazing host team (love you all <3) to being able to get to know, interact with, and marvel at the creations of the entire leadership team, to spending long hours (perhaps too late at night) just sitting back and writing, there’s so much to love, and so much to be grateful for. Every day, when i log on to scratch to see what’s happened in the recent past, i look forward to seeing the ramblings of friends, the words of hundreds of fellow authors who are constantly having fun and learning and improving together, and the voices of

november 6-7th - exposition bidaily
551 words, 500 points (including proof)

Paris and Foxglove stand together, eyes on the glass bridge that lies before them. It’s one of the few things in their world that doesn’t carry a nostalgic appearance of renaissance eras long gone – simple, clean, and elegant, the smooth glass before them is a work on magical art.

As it would be, the pair suppose – few things here hold any logical sense. But this place was never meant to be logical – it’s the epiphany of a thousand feelings and a million dreams. And maybe that was just what they needed, Foxglove and Paris. They needed a place to be alone and together, to be themselves.

“Have you ever wondered what’s on the other side?” Foxglove asks, looking up at Paris. There’s a certain innocence to their voice – they don’t quite understand the truth of this place or where the bridge leads quite yet. Maybe sometime, they will – but it’s up to Paris to protect them, not to enlighten them to the truth of the choices they face.

“Sometimes,” Paris says, a quiet truth hidden behind her voice. “It reminds of all the chances I have, and the things I could do. If I was willing to try. But it also reminds me of all the things I have to loose.”

Foxglove frowns, their eyebrows lowering in confusion. They don’t quite understand – but they know, someday they will. And for Foxglove, that will be enough – for now.

“What do you wish you could have?” they ask. They’re curious – Paris will always give them that. Maybe too curious. They learn too fast, understand too must about the world when prompted – she has to be careful, in what she says and what she does.

“I wish–” Paris’s voice trails off. What does she wish for? There’s so much she’s wanted, so much she’s never had. But there’s also so little she could ask for now, so little good it would do her. And so little good it would do Foxglove. “I wish moments could last forever. I wish we could find a moment and time, and preserve it in our memories – I wish we didn’t forget. Maybe there’s things I would be glad to forget. But someday, I know I’ll forget this, us, everything here now–”

“And you don’t want to forget,” Foxglove finishes for her. “I don’t want to forget either, Paris.”

In truth, she knew there was a lot Foxglove would like to forget. They may not like to talk about it, but she knew there was always something behind those watery blue eyes, that cautious optimism they held so dear.

“What do you want?” she asks, looking at Foxglove. “If you could have anything, make any wish, any dream come true, what would you choose?”

For a moment, they hesitated, shifting their gaze to the ground.

When they answered, they looked out at the bridge, at the misty sea shrouding the other end. “I wish I knew what I want. I want to live, and I want to be happy. I want to learn, and I want to understand.”

When they pause, Paris waits. She knows they have more to say – and some things are worth waiting for.

“But sometimes–” their voice catches, a truth caught in their throat. “I wonder what it’s all for. What about us really matters?”

november 8th - prompted word war
320 words, 125 points

Dear diary, today i finally figured it out! Me well i just really really want to be in the room where it happens i want to see how it is done, how the decisions are made and i want to be a cat on the mat in the room where it happens maybe i do not even need to do anything in the room where in happens but i rally do want to be there because there must be something so special about the room where it happens because everything really cool happens in the room where it happens like how even the cat chases the mouse around the room where it happens because that it was the cat does because the cat wants to do that or wait the cat wants the mouse because it is a cat and that is what a cat does and cats area really really cool like that and well that’s how it goes because no one else is every in the room where this happens so we do just has to assume that it happen because that is what we were told happened in the room where it happens but that is not really important because the cat still likes the mouse and that is still really cool. Maybe the cat does not just want the mouse, but what does this all have to co with the room where it happened? Maybe i want to be in the room where it happens, and maybe that is not just about the cat and the secrets it does hold to life. Maybe the room where it happens is about nothing and everything, all the secrets to life and answers to the universe, all at once, because that is our life, the universe and everything work because life the universe and everything are very cool like that and well we do know that the answer to

november 8th - conversation between past, present, and future self
441 words - 400 points (including proof)

I will sit uncomfortably between three versions of myself. To me, they are long since past. I am the future – what we will all become, the realization of our hopes, yet the downfall of our dreams. I am old, where the others are young – I see what was and what is, far less of what could be.

I squirmed to the left of my elders, the youngest of three selves. I look to my futures, wondering, in awe, how I ever got there. They were so much more confident than I, well versed in their subjects of interested and ready to take chances I never was. I was a dreamer, but they were the visionaries.

I look to my left and then to my right. To one side sits my future, while to the other, my past. I am their balance, their state of the present. Where one is naive, the other is jaded. But I, the middle ground, see both sides – I see what was and what could be, and I understand where our potential lies.

“So–” I began, not quite sure why we had gathered ourselves here. Surely there was no reason why our present required the triumirvurate insight – I had been assured that everything was progressing just as I had imagined.

“Clearly we will already be here,” I will interrupt. “There will be no need to dwell on how we will get here, or why our present will choose to call us. Let us discuss – what will we do in response to the apparent crisis? I will express–”

I hold up a hand. “Future,” I say, keeping my voice as level as I can. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to catch our past up on the current state of affairs – it’s not their fault they reign over our childhood, our golden days.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Just because–”

“Relax, past,” I whisper. “You are one of us – and we recognize what you do for us. I want to level the playing field for a well rounded discussion. Is that alright?”

I nodded.

“In your future,” I will say, addressing Past, “we are faced with a choice, a crisis of sorts. What is it we are to do with our future? We will have no direction, no strong pull towards a path. And we will need to make the right choice.”

“Future can feel our feelings, and understands what we will think,” I add, though I am still a bit unsure as to the role of Future’s perspective myself. “What we choose now will determine what we become–”

“And what we remember about you,” Future smiles.

november 9th - word war
330 words - 125 points

Once upon a a time not so long ago, there was a mango ,just walking along the streets of a city, somewhere. Being a mango, they did not exactly want to see mangoes siting the stand of a street cart, about to be sold and eaten, for it would be very said for a mango to watch another be eaten because then they would no longer have their mango friend, and that would be very sad, and we would never, ever want to make the mango feel sad because then we would be sad to, and we don’t want to be sad either because then our friends would be sad too. Anyhow, this mango was just about to watch another mango be sold and eaten by a younger, unsuspecting child when all of the sudden, a giant pencil dropped down from the sky. This pencil, in true superhero form, was wearing a cape, and was of course also wearing another cape on top of that cape, because why would the pencil not be wearing two capes. As he fell from the sky, the pencil declared his intention to save the mango, for the mango, being a mango, deserved to live, and thus the mango must be saved in order to live out its truly glorious life as a mango because it was just about to do so before it was picked off the tree and put in the marketplace to be sol to this child. Where were we? Ah yes. The pencil decided to save the mango. And so, with the pencil’s great and magical powers, the pencil then put itself down a giant piece of paper, and it began too write. It wrote slowly at first, for it had not written in a while, as the narrator of the pencil was rather used to typing instead of writing, but after a while, it seemed to get the hang of things and began to speed up so that it could

november 9th - roleplay day
544 words - no points

glancing around the main cabin, moonlit did her best to smile. “chaos never dies day,” she says, to no one in particular. “this should be interesting!” it was perhaps a little chaotic for her taste, if she was being honest - but hey, it would be fun! and that was what really mattered… right?

“well,” moonlit laughs, surveying the chaos from stingray's calmer corner. “would anyone care to word war on this fine day of roleplay?” or perhaps exchange critique - it was always nice to give and take advice from other writers.

“ooh yes, that would be fun,” moonsy replies to orion. “i also should find something for all of you to critique - do you have any preferences regarding style and length?” most of her writing tends to be either magical realism or fantasy, but she'd also do her be to accommodate for her critique buddies if they would prefer something else.

“well…” moonlit smiles. “i could write on mobile, in spanish, or something more coherant than the usual word war rambling!” all of the above should considerably slow down her wpm, if mouse was up for it. “i'd also be happy to critique, though perhaps a shorter excerpt would be better?” moonlit's mind wanders to her rather neglected attempt at nanowrimo…

“hi nova! my words per minute is somewhere around seventy, though i should be able to slow that down by a bit if that would be helpful,” moonsy says, though she has no idea what nova's word per minute is.

“hmm i know at some point i was able to type close to 50 wpm on mobile, so maybe not on that,” moonlit frowns. “something shorter sounds good! it would be best if you didn't give me anything you're thinking about entering in the writing comp, since i may or may be judging.” moonlit smiles to herself, remembering that some things were meant to be secrets a little longer.

“alright!” moonlit smiles. she'll find an old writing comp entry for orion to critique in a bit - or perhaps weekly part? she's not quite sure yet. “anything is also fine by me, though i'd note that i can not critique anything you're thinking about entering in the writing comp.”

“ooh alright then!” moonlit grins. “do you have any preference on what you'd like to critique? i should note that i cannot critique anything you're thinking about entering in the writing comp, but other than that, i'd be happy to do just about anything!”

“sounds like a plan! i won't be home until later tomorrow evening, so i hope that's alright,” moonlit smiles. she doesn't mind waiting a bit - there's plenty of time left in november, and both her and nova's lives come first.

“either way works!” moonlit replies. she'd be happy to critique either option.

-

before answering the question of the day, moonlit takes a moment to think about it. “hmmm,” she says. “maybe the first and third parts from the weekly? they aren't the most well thought out things i've ever written, but i'm proud of myself for sitting down and writing about characters just to write about characters.” she smiles, imagining all the future adventures her band of characters would have when she wasn't busy writing melancholy scenes about their quiet truths.

november 10th - rearranged parts of weekly 1 for critique
no new words, no points

Foxglove looks out at the world from the cathedral’s bell tower, quietly admiring the beauty of the rustic, yet subtly beautiful landscape. There’s not much here, but they think what they see is worth remembering.

Everything is worth remembering.

“I can hear you, you know,” Foxglove whispers, their voice barely audible over the light hum of the wind. Paris steps forward from behind them, bringing herself into the waning moonlight.

“I know. I didn’t want you to think you were all alone,” she replies, her voice soft and reassuring.

Foxglove nods, a quiet understanding passing between them. In spite of themself, they ask, “Are we ever really?”

Paris sighs, her silence gently echoing between the steel and stones.

Aren’t we always?

But she can’t tell Foxglove that. They are too young, too naive, too willing to believe in the innocence of the world. And maybe, despite everything they’ve both seen and done, they deserve that innocence.

“Sometimes,” she says, looking down at the stones beneath their feet. “But we have each other. And I will never let you be alone.”

It was true – she would shelter Foxglove until the world tore her from their side.

They nod, quietly reassured.

“Me too,” they say, eyes still on a faraway place.


-


Foxglove sat with their feet dangling towards the oddly still river below, held tilted gently towards Paris.

Paris laid on the barren moss-trickled stones, head resting on her arms, eyes on the sunset over the water.

Between them stood a quiet understanding, a feeling of being together. Of being not alone. Neither had need to speak to express their appreciation for the other – they simply needed to be there, with the other.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Foxglove asked, watching the reflection of the shimmering sunset in the sparkling waters.

Paris nodded, smiling at Foxglove. They were still young, but already so much more confident than when she had first met them.

“Yes,” she murmured, keeping her voice soft. “Even when the sun sets, it will always rise again. And where the river flows, it will always return.”

“Someday,” Foxglove smiled. “Some things take time.”

“So they do,” Paris laughed.

They both knew there was a greater truth to their words


-


“Foxglove, I–” Paris began, unsure of the direction she saw their conversation going.

“Paris,” Foxglove, whispered, arms curled around themselves. “I–”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. Paris couldn’t take the silence between them, the subtle ignorance of their conflicts anymore. “I– I can’t do this anymore. And I know you can’t either. This needs to stop.”

Foxglove bit their lip, doing their best to hold back the tears they feel slipping past the corner of their eyes. “But–”

“I know we’ve made promises. I know we said forever, that we’d let anyone tear us apart. But–” Paris hesitated. She knew what she needed to say. But she also knew what she was doing to them. “Foxglove, we are tearing us apart.”

Foxglove closed their eyes.
Breathe, they told themself.
It was going to be okay.

It wasn’t going to be okay.

“Paris,” they say, their voice breaking with the word. “I need you.”

“I need me too,” Paris answered, voice barely audible.

There was little Foxglove could do but watch, memories flashing behind their eyes, as Paris looked out at the bridge in from of them.

Taking a deep breathe in, she walked across.


-


“I’m sorry,” Foxglove mumbles, the words barely falling out their lips.

No. That wouldn’t be enough – not for Paris, not for their friendship.

They try again, closing their eyes to imagine the scene in their head. “I’m sorry. For walking away. For leaving you behind. I know I hurt you…”

Foxglove’s voice trails off. Their words, they know, will never be enough. And they both know Foxglove was hurt too. Where bonds were broken, only time could heal the broken cords – but time was a luxury they could hardly afford.

So Foxglove tried again.

“Paris,” they whispered, speaking to their friend long gone, “I’m sorry. For walking away. For leaving you behind. I know I hurt you, and I need you to know that I was hurt too.”

They pause, letting the weight of their own words sink it.

“But…” they swallow, blinking back a glistening tear. “I miss you, Paris. I wish we could rebuild the glass bridges we built to shatter. I wish we could be together, there for each other again. And I wish…

I wish we could never really be alone.”