Daily 11:
Three goats lived on one side of an old bridge. Their names were James, Penelope, and Pasta. James was the biggest of the three goat siblings, a large brown goat with medium sized gray horns on his head. Penelope was the medium-est of the three goats, she was light gray with yellow eyes. And then there was Pasta, the smallest of the three goats. Pasta was a tiny white goat, who was very springy. One day, as they where grazing, Pasta started whining “I don’t like this grass” She whined “I wanna go across the bridge, the grass there is better!” She said “Well, you know what they say, the grass is always greener on the other side.” Said Penelope “Well that’s more reason to go across the bridge!” Pasta said loudly “Why did you tell her that?!” James hissed to Penelope. “It’s a saying.” Penelope said, rolling her eyes, if goats can roll their eyes. “Penelope didn’t mean that” James said in that annoying older sibling kind of voice “Well i’m gonna go find out!” Said Pasta, dashing away “Pasta!! Get back here!” Penelope and James yelled. Pasta pranced over onto the bridge, which creaked under her weight “Golly, this bridge must be old!” She said, looking at the old boards under her hooves. “Or maybe it’s that YOUR so heavy!” Came a screechy unpleasant voice from under the bridge, a large bridge troll looking up. “Oh hello!” Pasta said, smiling. “Your supposed to be terrified!” The bridge troll said “Oh, sorry! But you aren’t that scary.“ Pasta said “Then I’ll eat you!” The troll said “Just try!” Pasta said, leaping away. The troll tried to catch her, but it was very sluggish and hadn’t exercised in forever, so it couldn’t run very fast. Next came along Penelope “Pasta! Where did you go?!” She called, irritated. “Hello there!” The bridge troll called. “Oh goodness!” Penelope exclaimed, looking down. “See?! Aren’t I terrifying?!” The troll said. “This bridge certainly is! Did you build this?”
“Yes” The troll replied, unsure. “Well, your a horrible builder” Penelope said bluntly “This bridge doesn’t have any kind support, which it clearly needs!” She said “It looks like you just nailed a couple of boards together and threw it on the ground!”
“Well isn’t that what a bridge is?” The bridge troll questioned “No! You need blueprints, and a team to help, and all sorts of other things!” Penelope said “This bridge won’t hold much weight at all!” Penelope said. The bridge frowned. “Well, I have to find my sister, goodbye.” Penelope walked off the bridge. The troll stared, mystified. How had he let two delicious goats escape? Maybe he needed to exercise more. Along came James, across the bridge. The bridge creaked horribly. “Be careful James! That bridge isn’t structurally sound!” Penelope called. The troll spotted James. This was his chance! He leapt up onto the bridge “Thought you could escape, huh Goaty?!”
“My name is James” James said
“Well it doesn’t matter, because I’m gonna eat you and then I’ll win and-”
As the troll spoke, the suddenly gave a horrible creak, and snapped. James quickly jumped off the bridge, but the troll fell into the water. James walked over to his siblings. “Oh hey! You found Pasta!” He said to Penelope, smiling “Yep.” She said back. They all began grazing. “Oh hey, the grass over here IS nice.” Penelope said “Yeah! I know!” Said Pasta smiling. And they build a new, structurally sound bridge and could go to either pasture easily. As for the troll, he went and got a vacation home in the middle of nowhere so no one could bother him. The end.

613 words

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Daily 11
I glanced at the mirror in front of me. A beautiful feminine figure wearing a flowing blue ball gown with assorted gloves and glass slippers was staring back at me, like a princess from a fairy tale. I let out an audible gasp, and quickly moved around to make sure it was indeed my reflexion I was seeing in the glass. I patted my golden locks delicately, and the figure in the mirror did the same; I split my rosy lips into a big smile, revealing my perfectly white teeth - the bright young woman in the mirror still followed.

I stared down at the fabric of the gown I now wore - yes, it was exactly as the one the woman - no, I - was wearing. I was seeing my reflexion, no longer that of a poor, motherless girl whose arms were always loaded with buckets of water or washed clothes, but that of a dazzling woman in her most beautiful years readying herself for a ball.

Tears of happiness and joy filled my tears. I had not felt such ecstasy ever since my stepmother arrived in our house. Taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I smiled and gently lifted up the hems of my long gown before turning and carefully stepping out into the befalling night. I was comfortably sat into the carriage waiting for me, and in the smoothest way, we arrived half an hour later at a grand castle. I was introduced as Cinderella, but my last name remained unsaid.

I was then lead, among with other guests, to the ballroom. It was magnificently adorned and I tried to put myself at ease. Soon enough, we saw the prince arrive, and the crowd of guests fell silent as the prince's gaze skimmed the delightful young girls waiting for his invitation to dance. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw my stepsisters adjusting their hair bows and necklaces. Though covered with makeup and a ravishing toilette, they appeared awkward in this attire.

It was then that a charming, masculine voice called out my name. “Cinderella?” the prince said, his soft amber staring straight into mine. I blushed violently - I had not been expecting the prince to chose me as his first dance partner.

Slowly, I made my way to him, and trying to prevent it from shaking, rested it carefully on his arm. He said nothing, but his eyes were enough to tell me to follow him. I felt all the guests watching us as we started waltzing to the music. The prince was a wonderful dance partner, and in his company I was no longer aware of the crowd of jealous guests - only me and him, in a haven of our own.

How long we danced, I did not know. I was only conscious that at some point we left the ballroom for the castle gardens, and that despite the fresh night air I was not cold.

The first ding-dong of the bells for midnight violently pushed me away from this revery. The prince must have felt me stiffen, because he stopped and eyed me with slightly worried eyes. I backed away, my fairy godmother's words surfacing in my mind. I started panicking - the last thing I wanted was for the prince to see me as the poor motherless girl I really was. I let go of his hand, and looked around, frightened like a bird out of its nest. The prince reached forward to grab my hand, but I quickly stepped back. “Wh-what's the matter?” he demanded, now seriously concerned.
“I- I have to go-” was all I could manage.

I ran, as fast as I could manage towards the castle gates. As I descended the stairs, I slipped. My glass slipper fell off, but in the agitation I could not, did not have time to put it back on. Already the clock was at its ninth ding-dong as I hopped on my carriage, and ordered in a frightened voice to leave as quick as possible.

The next morning, we were informed of the prince's arrival. It appeared he was desperate to find the girl who had danced with him - me. I carefully walked into the room just as my eldest stepsister was trying on the glass slipper I had left. I was instantly relieved, because my elder sister's feet were way too big compared to mine. I was, however, more worried when my second stepsister tried it on. As the shoe slipped perfectly on her feet, I resisted the urge to scream aloud and reveal everything. The shriek was blocked in my throat, and my vision began getting blurred.

The last thing I saw before passing out was the prince leaving through the door with my second sister at his side.
(799 words)

daily 010: retold fairytale ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
word count: 418 / 400

The dwarves were trying everything they could. The old hag wouldn’t wake up. She had bitten the apple that she wanted to give to Snow White, but she had presumably bitten the poisoned side by accident. Snow White was weary of the old hag. She looked harmless, but what if it was another attempt at ? Snow White had asked her, politely, to take a bite out of the apple, which the old hag did.
She was laying on the cobblestone path outside the cottage, her grey hair fanned out around her like a halo. All the color had drained out of her skin, her lips a soft periwinkle. She was slowly returning to her previous appearance, the wrinkles in her skin smoothing out, her heart-shaped lips reappearing.
Snow White was pacing around the grass, biting her fingernails. This was her fault, she should have just said no! “Oh, Doc, what am I going to do? This is all my fault,” she cried, throwing her hands out. The skirt of her dress was wrinkled, she had been bunching it up in her fists in distress.
“Oh, no, Princess, you’re too hard on yourself! She was trying to poison you, not the other way around,” he soothed, jumping off from the ground where he was tending to the hag to be by Snow White’s side.
“Oh, Doc,” she sobbed, dropping to her knees to cry into Doc’s shoulder. “How will we fix this?”
“We can’t,” he said quietly. “The only way to wake her is to find her first love’s kiss, but I hardly think anyone’s loved her since her younger days. We would never be able to find him.”
“We can!” Her eyes widened. “We can, we can, we can! We can send the royal guards to search for him, surely we can find him! And I’m the princess, she’s the queen, of course he’ll want to save her! We have to, we can!”
Doc sighed, taking Snow White’s hand into his. “Princess, it’ll take so long, and is it really worth it? She’s poisoned you twice and tried again a third!”
“Oh, well, she can make amends!” She said firmly. “She can apologize to me after she wakes up, apologize to everyone else. I mean, my father might not forgive her, but she doesn’t deserve to !”
“If you really want that, I guess we can try,” he said, glancing back at the other dwarves.
“Oh, I do, I really do!”

Daily 11
803 words

“Bye!”
Cinderella gazed after her stepsisters as they strutted out of the door. Their long silky dresses swished behind them, layers and layers of ruffles and lace trailing behind them. Their heads were adorned with impressive hats, vibrant feathers poking out of them.
Jealousy bubbled up inside of her. Why couldn’t she go?
She shook her head. It was no use wimping about it. There was no way she could go.

She trudged back off to the mop. Mistress had said she wanted the house ‘sparkling clean!’ by the time she came back. Just as she had started cleaning a loud pop startled her out of her thoughts.
“Hello?” She asked nervously. No answer.
She shrugged offhandedly and carried on. Back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, until her hands were raw and her shoulders ached.
“Hi!” A bright voice exclaimed.
Cinderella jumped. “Um, hi?”
A lady stepped into view. She was wearing a simple navy dress and was twirling a twinkling wand in her hand.

“I’m your Fairy Godmother!” She yelled excitedly.
Cinderella frowned. “OK, OK, calm down.”
She gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Cool! Now we need to find you a dress… a carriage… a make-up artist. Yup, sorry, can’t get you those.”
She gave her a thumbs down.
Cinderella sighed. “Why would I need those things anyway?”
“Why, to go to the ball of course!” She told her happily.
She sighed heavily. This was going to take a while.
“I can’t go to the ball. I have to clean.” She said clearly and slowly.
Nope. She didn’t take a word of it in. “I have a bit of fabric here for your dress.”
She handed her a large piece of velvety red cloth.
“And a pumpkin for your carriage! And here’s a make-up set! Off you pop!”
Cinderella gazed at the items in her hands. “How on earth am I supposed to turn this into a dress, this into a carriage and this into making me look pretty?”
The Fairy Godmother rolled her eyes. “DIY project! Obviously! Now, I must head off to my important meeting discussing a certain young… Never mind! Just remember, you have to go to the ball (or else), and you must be back before midnight. Don’t ask why, I have no clue! Bye!”
And with that she fluttered away through the door, leaving Cinderella speechless.

“Wow.” She groaned. “Here goes.”
A sewing machine appeared in front of her, labelled ‘Lots of love, Fairy Godmother (Maggie) xxx.’ She gently pushed the cloth into the machine and got to work. Slowly, but surely, like magic, the dress started to form beneath her hands. She had never used a sewing machine before, but here she was, a complete pro!
A few hours later, the dress was completed, a stunning frilled garment with gold lace. She grinned. She was really good at this.

Next, she gathered some tools from the toolbox the Fairy Godmother had left her and started to hack windows in the ginormous pumpkin. She then formed wheels out of the firewood she had painstakingly collected for her stepsisters and mistress just a day ago and added reins.
After what could have been days, she finished the carriage. It gleamed in the morning sun, so majestic that she had completely forgotten about the ball. But she just carried on working.

Cinderella gathered her lustrous golden hair into a simple bun, shoved on some strange glass slippers that had appeared at the foot of her bed and pulled on some shimmering sky blue gloves. She pulled a brush from the make-up kit and added a glimmering purple eye-shadow and some blush on her face. She ended up wiping it off though, as it looked atrocious.

Now she had finished her taks, she grabbed a Greggs sausage roll and a Yum Yum, and jumped into the carriage. Like she had thought, horses magically appeared with a ‘pop’ and started trotting immediately. She munched on her Yum Yum, the sugary icing coating her lips.
“Yummy!” She exclaimed.
She looked up and noticed an impressive building in the distance. As she approached it she saw glinting marble walls and a solid gold chimney. Her mouth opened in shock.
“Hey!”
A voice from outside the window caught her attention. She noticed a man outside the window with slicked-back hazel hair and a tight suit. Prince Charming.
“Nice carriage!” He admired grudgingly.
“Why, thank you!” She replied shakily. Maybe her dreams would come true. She would marry this man and become famous and have everything she wanted. Food. Water. A bedroom. A kitten… ENDLESS YUM YUMS!
A young lady waved at her. She was latched onto the prince’s arm, smiling giddily. Her stepsister.
“Hi, sis! How’s it going?”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”

501 words


She was only supposed to watch. Just one trip to the surface. Just for the evening. Be back by morning. If there are humans, stay far away. Her father had made it very clear.
And she tried to listen. She tried to be good. When she saw the ship, she tried to observe from a safe distance. But the more she watched, the more she had to see — how the figures moved, walking and dancing on their legs — so she swam ever-closer, until she could see buttons on coats and bows on dresses and glints in eyes. She could stay out of sight; they seemed too busy with each other, laughing and talking, to look into the sea and notice a mermaid watching.
One human in particular caught her eye — a young woman, about her age, who the others called Princess, Your Highness, or the birthday girl. The mermaid was enchanted by her — her sparkling eyes, her dazzling smile. Her hair, flowing down from an elaborate mountain of curls. Her elegant fingers, curiously unwebbed. How her skirts swirled around her human feet. How her face twisted when she laughed.
The mermaid watched for hours, as the sun began to set, as dark clouds began to roll over the horizon. She was distracted from the humans only when rain began to fall — how curious, being touched by drops of water instead of being submerged in it. But her attention returned to the ship as thunder clapped, and the people on board started shouting — should head back, out too far, meant to be closer to shore.
She watched as wave after great wave rocked the ship. Watched as the men threw buckets of water off the deck. As the princess helped while the others screamed.
Watched as the princess toppled overboard. As she screamed. As the men shouted for a rope. As her shriek was cut off by the water. As she sank deeper, deeper, deeper.
The mermaid dove for her. She was supposed to stay away from humans, was not supposed to save them, to touch them. But she barely spared the rules a thought as she carried the girl to shore.

The princess didn’t know who had saved her. Some chalked her story of a beautiful woman and a heavenly song up to the hallucinations of a half-drowned mind, and part of her almost believed them. But she knew she had been saved somehow, and none of the sailors had done it; who could say it hadn’t been… whoever it was she saw?
She ordered a sweep of all nearby communities to try and find her mysterious savior. “I’d like to thank her.” Perhaps reward her with a position as a lady-in-waiting. But no one knew anything. And besides, people kept reminding her, We’d best focus on finding you a husband. A good prince. Secure a good alliance. Very important. Yet during many a discussion of possible suitors, she found her mind drifting back to that mysterious maiden from the sea.

Current Word Count as of : 372
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I’ll start my writing here when I think of a way to start!! <33

♫ 11 - 940/400 words - twist on a fairy tale ♫
instead of writing about an escaping cookie, i chose to write about a chicken :> (original fairy tale is the gingerbread man!)

Once upon a time, there was an old couple who lived in a lovely little village. They owned the biggest and best farm in the whole country, and it was filled with many thriving animals and growing plants. They had a lot of friends that would stop by their farm and make donations, as well as buy a dozen chicken eggs or a few gallons of milk from the cows. Everyone loved the farm, and it was a blessing to the village because they never seemed to run out of resources!
The couple had several workers that kept tabs on the animals and food being planted, but one day, the animal population number was off. Instead of 44 chickens, like they'd been counting for the past two weeks, the number was at 43. The worker in charge of the chicken coop recounted the birds quite a few times, and he still kept getting the same number; 43. Worried, he rushed to the old couple's office and told them what had happened.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he began. “But we may have a problem with the chickens.”
“What is it, dear?” the old woman asked him, a smile on her face as she signed some paperwork and tapped away on her computer.
“One of the chickens is missing.”
“What do you mean it's missing?” the old man grumbled, standing up from his chair. “There's been 44 chickens for as long as I can remember, and you mean to tell me there's not?”
The worker gulped, shuffling back a step, and nodded. “There are only 43 chickens left.”
The woman tapped her husband's shoulder gently. “Now, let's not get so worked up about this, shall we?” She looked back at the boy. “Send a crew of 4 to 5 people out to the chicken coop to find where the one pesky rascal got out, fix it, then do your best to find the other chicken.”

Little did they know, the chicken, Theodore, was already off on a wild adventure a couple blocks away from the farm. He had partnered up with his donkey friend, Mario, and gotten help to escape, leaving everything he'd ever known behind.
He ran through the town with a grin on his face, squawking at everyone who tried to stop him, then ducking (chickening?) away from their arms and zooming between their legs.
The people who recognized the chicken from the old couple's farm and failed to capture him, reported the loose chicken to the farm. The man sent a group of his most skilled workers to retrieve the chicken, and they quickly gained on Theodore.
To get away from them, he ran into the shops scattering the streets of the village. After bolting through three bakeries, a bookstore, seven supermarkets, two banks, and an armory, the chicken came up to the edge of a large pond. He looked around nervously, unsure of where to go, and scared the people chasing after him would catch up and take him back to the farm.

A low whisper coming from behind a bush caught him off guard. “Scared of being locked back up in that coop, are you?” It murmured softly. Theodore noticed a bushy red tail peeking out from the bush, and let out a fearful caw as a fox emerged from the greenery. “Don't worry, little chicken. I want to help you. Just climb on my back and I'll get you to the otherside of the pond, where you'll be free for the rest of your life.” The fox gave a sly grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Why would you want to help me?” Theodore asked, his feather ruffled.
The fox shook her head. “Just because I'm a fox I'm not allowed to do a good deed?” Her whiskers twitched and she looked down at the ground. “If I'm not needed here, I guess I'll be on my way.” She turned slightly, ears still pointing in the direction of the chicken.
“Wait!” He shouted, hopping up and down. “I'll accept your offer, I need to get away from them!” Theodore looked back at the way he came and saw the farm workers running at him. “Hurry!”
The fox dove into the water, making a big splash, then flicked her tail at Theodore. “Hop on.”
The chicken did as he was told, scared of what would happen if he didn't, then smirked as his memories of running through the shops came back to him. Just as he imagined, about halfway across the lake, when the water was so high that he had to sit directly on top of the fox's head, she gave an abrupt turn and snapped her head back, opening her jaws.
Theodore, well prepared, mustered as many quick seconds of helplessly flapping his wings as he could, letting out a massive belch in the process. His burp released a small sword he had snacked on during his trip through the armory, and it fell gracefully into his feathered fingertips. As his flying skills gave out, the chicken angled his sword so it'd fall directly into the fox's mouth, then released it. His careful calculations proved correct (alliteration eheh), and the blade ended up jammed somewhere down her throat. Because of its incredibly small size, it did nothing but create an annoyance for the fox. Angry with Theodore, she gave a swift kick to his side, sending him 20 feet away from her, then paddled to the shore.
Theodore, unable to swim, unfortunately drowned.

At this news, the old man shrugged. “That nuisance of a chicken deserved it. It'll save us money on bird food at least.”

{Daily #11}
Twisted fairy tale.
Word count: 508 words

“Don’t forget: never talk to strangers!” Mrs. Wolf said to Little Wolf Riding Hood. “Especially those girls. They can be really dangerous!” Little Wolf nodded soberly. “Okay, mama.” “And remember: don’t stray off the path, either! The woods can be dangerous, with all those humans…” Mrs. Wolf added. “Now be off, before Grandma starts to wonder where you are!” Little Wolf nodded again, more nervously this time. He didn’t want to become prey for a little girl! The horror! Little Wolf picked up his basket, filled with goodies such as a whole steak and some meatloaf muffins, and headed off to the trail through the woods. “Into the woods, it’s time to go, I hate to leave, I have to go.” he thought, “Oh, well, into the woods to grandmother’s house, and home before dark.” And with that, he set off on the dirt road winding through the forest.

After walking for what seemed like forever (although it was really only fifteen minutes), Little Wolf decided to sit on a log for a bit to rest his legs. Although he technically wasn’t out of breath, Little Wolf thought that the flowers in this part of the forest were pretty and decided to sit and take in the view. Suddenly, he heard a rustle to his left. Then another to his right! He whipped his head around to see, standing there, none other than…

A LITTLE GIRL!


“AHHHH!” he cried. This girl was a giant, a freak of nature! He tried to run away, but tripped over a small stone laying in the middle of the path. He fell, scraping his knee. “Don’t worry, Little Wolf, I won’t hurt you!” the girl said. Little Wolf slowly turned around to face the little girl. “If you’ll kindly hand me my basket, I’ll be on my way,” he said to the girl. “But wait!” the girl replied, “Let me walk with you.” Little Wolf thought for a moment. He couldn’t see what was wrong with letting the girl walk with him, except… Well, his mother wouldn’t approve. “Sorry, my mama said that I can’t walk with strangers,” he said. “Oh well,” said the little girl, “Could you at least tell me where you’re going?” Little Wolf thought for a bit. He couldn’t see what was wrong with telling her where he was going. “I’m going to my grandma’s house.” he said, “I’m taking her these treats because she isn’t feeling well.” “How kind!” the little girl exclaimed, “Where does she live!” “If you follow this path for long enough, it splits into two roads. Take the right road, go to the first house on the left, and that’s my grandma’s house!” cried Little Wolf, throwing caution to the wind. “Cool!” said the little girl, and she skipped off, leaving him standing in the middle of the road. So Little Wolf started walking towards his grandmother’s house, and soon he got there. He opened the door, and said. “Grandma?”. “Oh, come in, dearie,” said a voice from the inside of the house.
TO BE CONTINUED

I walked through the woods silently, my basket in hand as my feet slid effortlessly across the dirt path. The ground was sandy, and the long wisps of leaves and branches wove themselves across the way. Something was moving through the shadows, large and silent as it stalked me through the trees, watching my red cloak as I effortlessly moved through the woods. I wrapped my fingers around the blade fastened to my hip, the sharp part gleaming. I pulled it from the holster, feeling its weight in my hand as a small smile crept across my face. Wolves had been haunting this forest for weeks, protecting the very woman I sought to destroy.
My grandmother.
The items carefully tucked away in my picnic basket were laced with poison. Enough to kill. Multiple people, probably.
The wolves struck, making their locations known. I had a couple options–I could try to run, but… well, wolves are notoriously fast. I raised my blade.
Most of the wolves were dead in seconds, but one of them stood above the rest, his anger growing steadily. Very well. I could probably outrun just one.
I adjusted my grip on my basket and started walking backwards, never letting my gaze leave his.

The rest of the trip to my grandmother’s went smoothly, other than a small snag that caught on my coat, tearing it from the rest of my cloak. I cursed under my breath, but kept walking. It was imperative that I made it to my grandmother’s small cottage home before the wolf did.
I stepped into her home, wiping my boots on her mat. “Grandmother!” I called, to no response. “It’s me! Red Riding Hood.”
I walked into her bedroom, checking to make sure she was still there. She was dressed as usual in her frilly nightgown, watching me as I walked in. “Well, hello dear! I didn’t hear you come in.” Her voice was barely audible.
“I brought you some food. Would you like to eat?”
“Why, of course! If only you’ll eat with me.”
I nodded my head suspiciously. Had the wolves tipped her off?
In any case, I brought over the basket and took a few slices of cake out. “My mother sent me with cake. Here you go.”
She took the plate with a shaky hand. “Are you not eating any, dear?”
“I wouldn’t want to take your cake,” I said matter of factly.
She smiled. “Oh, its no trouble. Please have some.”
I got myself a slice, picking at it with my fork.
My grandmother raised her hand– no, that wasn’t a hand. That was a paw.
The wolf’s claws were in my neck before I could even react, red covering the floor.

Daily 11: Fairy Tale Switch
word count - 546 words

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a King, who had twelve daughters; each of them possessed unimaginable riches and power, as their father had no son. However, when it came time for the oldest princess to marry, the prince who came to the kingdom quickly noticed that every morning, the shoes of the princesses were worn through, as if they had danced all night.

Soon, the prince was given an ultimatum by the King: if, in three nights, he could find out how and where it was that the twelve princesses danced, he could pick any one of them as his wife, and he would become the heir to the throne; if it remained a mystery, he would be executed. Many men tried in vain to find the secret of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, each one failing, one after the other. Now, we come to the beginning of our story: one winter’s day, a soldier too wounded to fight wandered through the woods of the kingdom of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, and approached a small cabin inhabited by a very old, very wise lady.

He knocked at the door and was left with no response. The smoke coming out of the chimney told him that someone was home, but he wasn't quite sure, now seeing that no one was responding. As soon as he turned around, the worn-out door swung open, and out came the wise old lady.

She brushed away the gray strands of hair from her face and asked, “So, tell me, what brings you here? It’s not everyday that I find someone wandering around these desolate areas.”

“Well, I was relieved from the army when I was wounded in battle, so I’ve simply been wandering. I don’t really have a destination in mind… although, I have heard the story of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, and I wouldn’t mind being King…”

The old lad was all too familiar with this tale to know what the wounded soldier was coming to. He wasn't the first one to think of it, after all. Although she initially decided to send him off, there was something almost different about this man that made her inclined to help him. After much internal deliberation, she decided to offer some advice, “The Twelve Dancing Princesses, you say? Anyone in the kingdom would tell you to think twice… except me, that is. In truth, it isn’t a hard task if you have the necessary information. The only trick to it is to ensure that you don’t drink any of the wine the princesses give you, for it is a sleeping draught. Find a way to make them believe you drank it, and then pretend to sleep. And here… here is a cloak of invisibility, guaranteed to work. Put this on once you see where the princesses are going, and follow them. That is where my knowledge ends — hopefully it will bring you far enough. Let me just write this down on a piece of paper so that you can remember my advice.”

The solider was shocked. He couldn't believe that his destiny was just a few steps away. And so, the journey to Flavoria began.

↳ daily: march 11th - 458/450 words ༉‧₊

Snatching a rose from a nearby bush, Belle stumbled into a large, grand mansion. She looked around faux uncertainly. “Hello?” she asked.

There was a movement to her right and a tall, broad man stepped out of the shadows. Belle smiled to herself. This was all going /perfectly/.

“Uh, hello? Why are you here-“ the man said.
“I got lost on my way out of the woods.” Belle quivered just enough for the man to believe her, and it worked. He invited her to stay for the night so she could carry on on her way when it was daytime.

Later that night, when Belle was sure the man was asleep, she slipped out of bed and walked around the house. It was creepy - the furniture was strangely intimidating. She took everything she could, all the expensive things small enough to fit in her pocket so she could take them back to her parent’s shop.

Walking into a large, deserted room, Belle paused. She eyed an empty jar in the middle of the room and slid her rose from earlier inside. Then, she cast a spell, relinquishing the man’s beauty and turning him into a part animal. For a finishing touch, she added that every time a rose petal fell off, the more he hurt on the inside.

She pulled off a few rose petals for good measure.

The next morning, Belle was sitting in the library when the Beast came up to her.
“How are you faring?” He asked politely. Belle could see he was shaking slightly, maybe from the shock of what he looked like. Belle could also tell he knew she was a sorceress.

Belle couldn’t have that happening. She needed to get rid of the evidence.
“I’m doing well. I’m going to go back home now. Thank you. Bye.” Belle ran off.

When she arrived back home, she put on a show.
Belle summoned all her acting skills, yelling, “There’s this horrid BEAST that tried to kidnap me! He NEEDS to be taken care of NOW!”

The village loved Belle and were urged to go take care of the kidnapper beast. They took out their weapons and lanterns and marched to his mansion. When they arrived, the Beast was nowhere to be seen.

What?

Whilst the villagers began searching the mansion, Belle ran around the house to the garden at the back. And looked around. All the petals had fallen off every single rose bush.

In the middle of the garden, the man sat. He was no longer a beast. He looked quite ordinary sipping some tea at a small table.

“I know people like you.” He said quietly, “but my house has many secrets.”

Belle could swear she saw the teapot wink.

queer little mermaid with a few twists 470 words

— — — —

the mermaid swims to the surface, afraid of facing her family for yet another moment. “sing,” they had told her. “sing until you can’t anymore. anything for a bit of publicity, a bit of clout.” she is desperate for an escape, craving the fresh taste of oxygen that the humans - those odd creatures - have enjoyed for this long.

she reaches the surface, managing to duck underwater as lighting strikes the ocean once, twice, three times. a storm; that’s what the humans call it. at the very least, she is safe. “there’s no way i’m going back out there,” she mutters to herself before swimming until her head is slightly below the surface. she is about to maneuver her way back to her cove. that is, until she sees the lifeless body floating right beside her.

the human has no tail, and their legs are the most fascinating things that the mermaid has ever seen. knowing that she ought not to cause someone to lose their life, she quickly grabs the human by their hand and carries them to a nearby rock on the shore. gazing at them, she finally observes them from a closer perspective. they do not appear to be overly masculine or feminine, with an element of gender neutrality from their face to their clothing. she presses two fingers to their neck and smiles as she realizes that they are breathing. the mermaid cannot bear to live underwater any longer.

the next day, she abandons her disapproving family once again. “sing,” they repeat with the same deadpan voices. she simply rolls her eyes and leaves, making her way to the lair of the renowned sea witch. without a word, she is handed a piece of paper, which she eagerly signs. her soul now belongs to the witch, in addition to her voice. her legs can only carry her so far. she has never struggled to breathe this much before.

the mermaid cannot walk; she never learned how. she sits against a rock for a moment, embracing the taste of oxygen in her veins. a hand is outstretched in front of her eyes. she looks up, only to see the same human that she had saved a day ago. she doesn’t believe that they could ever remember her, yet she takes their hand regardless. with their help, she is finally able to stand, and her eyes meet theirs. “thank you for saving me,” they say, stunning her into silence. they open their free palm to reveal a seashell necklace. the mermaid cautiously ties the string around her neck, feeling a tingling sensation in her throat. the human smiles at her. “here’s your voice back.”

they take her hand, and the sun rises in the distance as the mermaid and the sea witch run through the sand together.

Daily - So Long London (before Paddington 3) 264/250 words

I scramble out of bed and go brush my teeth - and ears, obviously. I rush down the stairs and pick up my battered brown suitcase. I am so so excited to go back home today - finally. Skipping breakfast, I say my goodbyes and a somber feeling comes upon me.

The rain drizzles softly on the street. People push past me, grumbling and hurrying in the way people do, holding up umbrellas, stomping around in the splattering puddles.

I don’t mind, though. I stand on the damp pavement looking out at the marvellous city I now call home. I think back to all the adventures I’ve had, all the friendships I’ve made. The explorer was right. I am, mainly, welcome here. London has changed me, mainly for the better- I’ve become braver and politer and more generous. All good things have to end sometimes.

I watch the birds flock on the streets and the black taxis rumble past. Well. It’s time to go back to my rainforest in Peru - or whatever is left of it. I smile to myself, I’ll be excited to see Aunt Lucy again to learn about what she’s done whilst I’ve been away and tell her about the wonderful time I’ve had- I’ll miss the Browns a lot; but
hopefully just because it’s bye for now doesn’t mean it’s bye forever!

With a sense of finality, I walk up the steps of Paddington Station, munching on my marmalade sandwich as I go. Turning around, I tilt my hat in thanks and leave.

So Long, London. Till next time!

‎‧₊˚✧ 03/11 ✧˚₊‧ Red woke up to the news that the town had another missing person, taken from their bed in the night and dragged away without a trace. She was lucky to have never been targeted, the target always being some girl around her age who was pretty, slim and blond. She rolled out of bed, and walked over to her dresser, filled with vials and perfumes all with the purpose to make her more beautiful than the other girls who surrounded her. She powdered her face, covering all her imperfections and brushed through her silky hair one hundred times on each section. When she was finished with it all, she dressed herself in her finest clothes and glided down the stairs to where her mother was patiently waiting.

“Gorgeous, as always. Pretty as a picture, don’t you think?” Her mother turned patiently to her husband, a vain smile stretched across her face as she waited for a response from the man buried in the daily paper.

“As a picture,” her father agreed, eyes always scanning, never stopping until he turned to the next page and repeated the process. He was a wealthy man, paired with a beautiful woman in the town's picture perfect couple.

“Not quite as pretty as Elise, I suppose.” Her mother sighed heavily, as if not having the most beautiful daughter was a blessing. Red’s face burned as she turned to stare at the ground, causing her mother to frown. “Wipe that ugly expression off your face, Red. It’s hardly suitable if you wish to find a rich young man who would be willing to marry you.”

The condescending tone her mother said it in made her want to explode in fiery hot anger, but she kept her face in check and nodded obediently. “Yes, mother.”

—

She climbed into bed that night, her mother’s words from earlier playing on repeat in her mind. Her skin crawled with some supernatural feeling, a hate for not only her mother, but Elisa also. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no way to match the perfection Elise seemed to be, but secretly Red prayed that she would be the next to be taken. She rolled over onto her side, quickly falling into a deep slumber that could not be broken by even the loudest noise.

The next morning, she awoke to some metallic smell on the air near her bed, but dismissed it as one of her various treatments or powders gone bad. She powdered herself as usual, brushed her hair one hundred times and dressed herself in her finest clothes. When she was finished, she glided down the stairs to see where her mother was waiting, face unusually pale.

She waited for the usual praise, and yet none came from her mother’s mouth. Instead, her mother’s jaw set as she cast a glance at her father.

The reason, she would find, would be much more dark than a simple scolding for her behavior yesterday. Instead, her father sighed heavily. “You know Elise, the pretty girl your mother is always raving about?”

Her mother shot him a discontented look, but allowed him to continue. “Yes, of course. How could I not, when I am constantly compared to her.”

Her father gave her a scolding look but continued. “She was found missing from her bed this morning, taken.”

Red’s eyes grew wide, torn between sorrow and joy. On the one hand, the girl was missing. On the other, she would never be compared to the girl again. Her heart raced as she tried to contain the adrenaline rushing through her. “I…must go process this in my room.”

Her feet pounded up the stairs in a way very unlike a lady, flopping onto her bed as a grin spread across her face. The same metallic smell from earlier stung her nose, and she jumped up, sniffing and searching for the source. She had been far from the truth in her guesses earlier, for the smell was not coming from her vanity. Rather, it was wafting from below her bed. She lowered herself onto her knees, turning her head sideways to see what had rolled under the bed.

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight. Below her bed, she found Elise’s purest white dress, stained crimson. A sheep, k!lled. And next to it, a pile of fur that looked suspiciously like Red’s silky scarlet locks, scattered around in the shape of a wolf.

daily that im too rushed to format 1183 words unfinished but im out of time

It is the greatest misfortune in the world that such a large percentage of the human population consists of absolute idiots. Where they come from no one knows; it is inherited at random and the number of them out there never seems to decrease - if anything, it increases.
If there weren’t so many idiots in the world I would never have gotten stuck in this tower.
Then again, if there weren’t so many idiots in the world I wouldn’t have met her, either. I leave you to decide which is worse.

It started right before I was born, when my mother for some reason had an insatiable craving for salad. Yes, salad, you heard me. Specifically, a salad made from rampion, which only happened to grow next door. And unfortunately for everyone involved, my family did not have the most savory neighbors; in short, a witch’s garden was the only place rampion grew for miles around. This was not because of a rampion shortage, it was simply the middle of winter, which is not when rampion usually grows.
I feel I should pause here and admit that normally my parents are honorable and honest people, for all of their mental deficiencies. My mother never would have thought of the rampion (it being the middle of winter, and her not being particularly imaginative, as you shall see shortly) had not the witch sent over a basket heaped high with fresh and tender leaves, with her best wishes for the baby.
Not only did my mother love the salad, when the rampion was used up she began moping for more. My father did his best to reason with her. “Rampion, I believe, does not usually grow in winter,” he said.
“It’s growing next door,” my mother sobbed. “It did taste so good, and I’m so tired of winter. That salad was like a bite of spring.”
(Despite her lack of imagination, my mother loved to indulge in what she considered poetic flights, and this was one of them. Generally, if she ever used a metaphor or simile she considered it poetry, and wrote it down straight away.)
My father patiently waited for her to scribble this new tidbit on a scrap of paper before continuing his argument. “You and I both know, dear, that it came out of the witch’s garden, and who knows what she did to make it grow? It must have been, I quite believe, I am almost convinced, yes, that it was an enchanted salad she sent over. Darling, think of it. Perhaps you’ve been cursed to go on wanting rampion salad forever until you eat so much you explode!”
“I’m practically exploding anyway,” my mother said, pointing to her belly. “Please go get some rampion for me. I will simply die if I don’t have any more.”
Since my father loves my mother, he went. Sadly, the witch refused to share any more when he asked. So he climbed the wall in the middle of the night, got into her garden, and was promptly turned to stone.
The witch came by the next morning, making a bargain with him: he should have all the rampion he wanted for his wife, and be free of the stone curse to boot, if he delivered his firstborn to her the day it was born.
Not a week later, the witch left town with an infant in her arms. The rampion in her garden turned to dust the instant she left, and my mother was sick for a month trying to digest the enchanted dirt that once had been rampion salad.


Yes, you’re very smart. I’m very proud of you. The infant was me. Me, okay? Don’t forget it. I’m the infant currently being secluded from human civilization for eighteen years as the witch climbs the stairs to her hidden tower, where she intends to keep me out of sight until my parents forget about me. However, on the way up, some of the stairs begin creaking and shaking - it’s an old tower, you see. The witch knows they will last for a few more years, but not much longer, and with me in the tower she won’t be able to make a lot of noise repairing them. She thinks, and thinks, until her gaze falls on me…

I knew nothing but the tower for the first years of my life. I didn’t even know that there was an outside world until sometime after my first decade had passed. And I don’t really feel like regaling you with the sob story, so I won’t.
All I know is that my life changed forever the day she rode by.

I was twirling a strand of hair between my fingers. I have nice hair, if I do say so myself. Black as midnight, soft and fine. It’s also very strong from the witch using it to pull herself up the tower.
The sound of hoofbeats got my attention, and I peeped through the single window of my tower to see a beast hurtling through the woods. It comes to an abrupt halt in front of my tower, resolving from a brown blur to what I’m almost certain is a rabbit. Or maybe a horse. I never can tell them apart. Sitting on the horse (rabbit?) is a girl.
“Is-” she said. “Is someone up there!? Uh, hi?”
“Are you a human?” I asked. I couldn’t tell. She looked like one, but her hair was way too short, just clearing her small, pointed chin.
“Am I a- Yes. Hang on, I’m coming up.”
I nodded and began gathering my hair to throw it out to her. Instead of standing under the window, though, she started walking around the tower.
“How do you get up?” she yelled up at me.
“Like this, of course,” I said, throwing down my hair.
There was a long moment of silence.
“Oh, good grief,” the girl said. Then she started climbing. She was much faster than the witch, and before I knew it she was swinging her legs into my tower.
She stared at me for a long moment. “Huh. I thought maybe I just hadn’t seen your face clearly from the ground, but…wow.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
She pointed to the hair dangling out of the window. “Um, that’s not exactly normal. And even if it were, I wouldn’t…ah…expect to see it on a guy.”
“A guy,” I repeated.
“A- Oh, for goodness’ sake, forget the hair. You’re probably some kind of witch here to lure me in with false faces and ridiculous hair.”
“You said to forget the hair?”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Why are you up here?”
“I live here,” I said, even more confused.
“Hm,” the girl said, looking at me like I was a mystery, one she just had to figure out. “A teenage boy, living in a tower, with amounts of hair that every woman I know at court would kill for?”
She tapped her finger to her lip.
“I’ll have to get to the bottom of this,” she said.

(Based on “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.”)

The wolf is the danger. She is the one who beguiles and devours. Cunning and cruel, she hunts her prey through any means she has to.
Over and over, Jacob had been told these things, yet when he saw her, he suddenly wasn't so sure. Her eyes were curious, not mean. Her fur was a beautiful silver, like the ripples on the lake. Her teeth were sharp, but so was the stick he held as he guarded the sheep in the meadow.
“Why do you not run?” she asked him after they watched each other for a few heartbeats.
“Should I?” Jacob countered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Usually people do.”
“Well, the people in the village all say you're evil. They say you eat our sheep and blow down houses and gobble up grandmas in their beds.”
“That sounds like enough reason for you to be afraid.”
“Well. I don't think I believe them.”
The wolf tilted her head. “And why is that?”
“I…” Jacob paused. “I don't know. You don't seem like an enemy. And the people in the village say a lot of things, not all of them true. They say children should be seen and not heard, but children always have the best stories. They say I'll never amount to anything if I don't work hard, but my dad worked hard his whole life and all he ever got for his trouble was a fall from a ladder last winter. I guess I stopped trusting what everyone said after a while.”
The wolf blinked sadly. “I am sorry to hear that. Haven't you ever wanted to leave? I could show you a place away from here, where—”
“Hey!” The raspy yell of the farmer interrupted her words. He fumed toward them from across the field. The sheep skittered away in alarm. “Boy! What are you doing? Kill the wolf!”
Jacob flinched. “It's okay! She's friendly…” His voice faltered as the farmer loomed over him, his beady eyes glinting with rage.
“Don't you talk back to me, boy!” He slapped Jacob across the face. “Wolves are the wickedest creatures upon this earth! Consorting with them is to go down the path of evil! Is that what you want, you worthless oaf?”
Jacob didn't answer.
“Well?” the farmer demanded, his face growing redder. “Answer me!”
“Maybe it is,” Jacob muttered.
“Devilish child,” the farmer growled, raising his hand to strike again. But Jacob was ready this time. Something had changed within him since he met the wolf, even though it was no more than a few minutes ago. He didn't have to take this anymore. He didn't have to listen to the lies the adults said or bear the blows they dealt him.
He dodged, as nimble as the wolf herself. Breathing hard, he ran to the edge of the woods. “Wolf!” he cried out, hoping she hadn't run too far. “Yes, take me away from here!”

✎ daily #11
695 words

based on the original little mermaid fairy tale - but w/ some differences ;)

The kn!fe was cold in my hand, dark against my pale fingers, the blade straining to fall out of my weary grip. My fist tightened on it again, ignoring the bite of the metal.

My dear sea-sisters had sacrificed so much give me this one last chance. To be free again, although I had not won his love. But what was truly free, now, in this dreaded place?

But I would have to move quickly, the red streaks lined the sky were my demise. If not now, I would die.

So I drew open the crimson curtain of the bridal tent, and, there, he was lying, with her by his side. I couldn’t bear to see her now—that very beauty drawing him to her, and I had saved him too, many times, but he would never know.

To him, I was a mere servant, good for a few party tricks and occasional dances, something else if he was ever in the mood. But when I stepped off the stage to drench my feet in the cold, cold waters, he always was gone, my vague familiarity his one contentment, and he would never anchor himself to me with a ring or any other legal promises.

This is what I thought of now, his eyes closed peacefully in sleep, perfect. His chest rose and fell with contentment at his loveless marriage, at the girl beside him, probably not even dreaming of me.

The knife trembled in my hand. Sun was filling the entirety of the tent, drowning me. But I was still paralyzed, still looking at him, how could I—

The bride opened one blue eye and I moved back, but there were no shadows to hide me now, and as she stretched I had to keep very silent. But her eyes—those churning waves of eyes—fixed on me, blinking and widening at the knife, at my desperate shaking.

Why are you here? She signed. Of course she had to act like she could understand me, when she’d seen my painted smile fall the day he told me of her. Had to care, when he didn’t try to speak to me, even when she knew he didn’t love her and not me either and beauty was the only thing she had to offer.

My throat ached. But my hand stayed on the knife, unwilling to let go, to explain.

Her eyes raised and she carefully slid back the sheets, as not to wake him. She signed her question again, gaze on the knife this time as she stood.

I looked at him once, then her again, I had not loved him, not really, he who made me a dumb, pretty thing but whispered her name in his sleep. She reached for my hand and I could not speak, even if I wanted to, which was truly the same thing as before.

But it was much too bright now, and already I could feel my limbs loosening, as if preparing to dissolve and forget.

So, instead I ran, out of the tent and towards the sea, my hand already gripping the mast, but fingers grabbed my wrist, pulling me to shore.

“Stay,” she said simply. And I wanted to, could she not see that by my very lifeline and the daggers that stabbed with every step that I wanted to? But this was a curse, and so am I, for wanting to be immortal and dr^nk on a mere idea.

The knife fell from my other hand, the water turned red and bubbled up like drops of bl00d, the screams of my sisters echoing in my ears.

Her hand fell from my wrist as well, to tell me, to make sure I understood. Don’t leave me alone here.

And, not for the first time, my eyes were dripping water down my face, and I wanted it to go away. I won’t.

When I swung my aching limbs over the side of the boat, her pleas sank deep into my ears, the siren song long forgotten. Because I was already far gone, the water coming closer, closer now, and already I was becoming much lighter, light enough to float away.

my main thread

March 12th || 346 Words || Title: there is no title because Gurtle ate it (Prompt from @yumeverse )

Ah, the land of Bugaria. A peaceful, prosperous place, where Papaya and Syd gather in the middle of nowhere…
Wait- was this even about Bugaria? Or Papaya?
Wait… what was I even writing about? Uh… should I refer back to the title?

Oh Venus… the title… it’s gone. Where did it go? I swore I wrote one… No, no no no nonononono… I refuse to believe it just disappeared.
PAPAYAAAAA DO YOU REMEMBER IF THERE WAS A TITLE!?
“…why are you asking me?” Papaya muttered, sitting by the campfire, looking like they were at the brink of falling asleep, sliding into the fire.
I dunno, I’d figure you’d know, because I’m writing the story ABOUT YOU!
“You don’t even know if you’re writing about me. I’m assuming you don’t proofread your own work, do you?”
Grr- fine… I’ll find out where my precious title went.

…stupid characters, not knowing their own identity or where they belong because they probably freaking misplaced my title…

Suddenly, an earthquake came about in Bugaria, where I was still searching for my title. I turn around, slightly frightful for what I’d see.
There Gurtle was, as large as an average turtle, if I were the size of a bug, which I practically was, being that I had to narrate the story of my very own bug OC in a fictional land about bugs. And sure enough, they were chomping on what appeared to be a title.
“Papay……….finds…….…tion..ry” were the only legible parts of the title now. So, it was my title. Darn Gurtle. Now I have to find a replacement title, and work from there! But I’m bad at coming up with titles… I literally used a quote from a funny video I watched 20 minutes ago for the title I gave for the daily.
Welp… I guess I’ll put a replacement title now, and hope for the best. Maybe no one will notice this if I post this in the main cabin with no real reason to actually look at the content of my story. We’ll see.

daily :: day 12
topic :: seed of a story
cabin :: thriller
title :: “the queen of broken hearts” by @thecatperson19
word count :: 642

Anara raised her head from the folds of blood red velvet, all too reminiscent of the color that her father had been bathed in, lifeless on the floor. Of the color that still stained the wooden floorboards of the shack she once called home.
But that wasn’t home anymore, and it would never be again. ‘Home’ was the sturdy pillars crafted of marble and the handles made up of the pearliest of pinks.
The palace. The grand foyer. The throne room.
Which was where she sat now, a newly placed crown weighing against her head of golden locks. The crown, when resting atop the crimson plush in the artifact room, had been beautiful to look at, with the intricate threads of gold woven around ruby gemstones the size of stones. The crown, that for years had represented the power and control of the royal bloodline, now hers.
Anara winced simply thinking that word. Bloodline. Images of the harshest battles, the wickedest of punishments… a young girl, curled up and starving under the cool breeze of the winds. The gentle flow and whistle of leaves brushing against each other. A picture of serenity while in intolerable, deathly pain… the thing she wanted to see last, and the last thing she wanted to feel.
Perfect pain.
But she was found. She was found, under that ash tree, not her father’s ashes, and taken in by an orphanage.
Until they realized that her touch removed misery, removed sadness from the children who’d gone through everything, who’d watched their loved ones crumble from under their touch. Like her.
Many would see that ability to be a blessing, a promise of a better life. Everyone except the orphanage owners and Anara herself.
She supposed the owners didn’t like the spark that had been birthed out of the hope that Anara gifted the children. The pain and the waiting and the claustrophobic place had been the things that kept those kids loyal.
And Anara? Every burden that had been removed from the consciousness of the innocent had been transferred to her. Every lick of hunger, every wound, every heartbreak. Heartbreak was the worst. It scalded her soul and clawed at her mind and made her think of everything she’d gone through. The slowly fading drum of her father’s heart…
And so she ended up alone and abandoned again. But it wasn’t long before she’d been found, not by an individual, but rather by the monarchy. The Queen.
The Queen of Hearts.
Despite the jokes and the myths, the Queen wasn’t the fairytale figure of cruelty and defiance. She was a star and the figure of love within their kingdom. She was peace, she was kindness, and just like all her successors, she had an ability.
And she was dying.
It was no surprise that the Queen had been proclaimed weeks away from her passing. She had been ruling for years, and the routine of granting cupid’s kiss of love to those who begged for the experience had drained her.
It was also no surprise to the kingdom, once her ability had been revealed, that Anara was to become the next Queen. The next monarch. The next… martyr?
And so there she was. Three weeks after the Queen of Hearts had passed, crown atop her head, full ball gown draped against her figure, and a staff in her hand.
Three weeks after the Queen of Hearts had passed, her coronation complete, finally Of Age, and still far too youthful to rule. She was only sixteen. She was only young and unprepared and scared.
Three weeks after the Queen of Hearts had passed.
Three minutes after she’d been granted the crown.
Three minutes after she’d officially become Queen.
And three minutes since the gatherer of pain, the reliever of heartache, and the Queen of Broken Hearts had been born.

Raising Trouble with Livy & Fini

SCENE 1: the thriller cabin
A large room covered in burning things, mangoes, and burning mangoes. Typewriters are everywhere, and some are occupied by young, chaotic-looking children furiously typing on them. LIVY and FINI enter bearing bags of mangoes, and the children come running.
FINI: Everyone in a line!
The kids rush into a haphazard line, with EDITH at the front.
LIVY: How many hours did you sleep last night, Edith?
EDITH: Eight hours. Can I have my mango now?
FINI: What's the magic word?
EDITH: Please can I have my mango now?
LIVY: Of course!
LIVY gives EDITH the mango, and she runs out of the room with a devilish grin on her face. LIVY and FINI come forward, leaving the children frozen in their poses.
LIVY and FINI: Welcome to Raising Trouble with Livy and Fini!
The kids break out of their poses and run to LIVY and FINI, clambering on them as the scene behind them changes and the lights fade.

SCENE 2: the main cabin
A market, with a giant sign reading ‘MAIN CABIN’, in which all the shops sell writing tools and accessories. A small, round stage is in the middle. The sky is clear, and the Main Cabin is filled with people. The children look around in interest, then burst into action. EDITH runs towards a clear Journalism camper, mango in hand, and sets it on fire (not really). It explodes and the camper squeals in fright. MADDIE, one of the children, has taken a typewriter to the Main Cabin and is furiously writing.
FINI: Edith! Do not explode the Journalism campers!
EDITH: But it's fuuuun.
MADDIE runs up to LIVY with some sheets of paper in her hands.
MADDIE: Livy! Livy! Livy! I did the weekly!
LIVY: Great job, Juice! Now go add it for points!
MADDIE, slightly disappointed: Yes. If only my name was Juice.
LIVY groans and holds a hand to her head.
LIVY: Maddie! Yep. Maddie. (to the audience) I need to sleep.
MADDIE: But I could be Juice 2.0! (to JUICE) Juice! We're twins now!
JUICE and MADDIE run off together, copying each other and both responding to ‘Juice’. Two teenage girls and a surprisingly mobile turtle step onto the stage, a list in the girls' hands. One tests a microphone before clearing her throat, getting all the people's attention.
STAGE PERSON: Attention, all campers! My name is Alana, this is Rockie, and we will now read the leaderboard.
ROCKIE: In first place, with 44600 points… Dystopian!
ALANA: In second place, on 41975 points… Fan-Fiction!
LIVY, whisper: It's not us?
ROCKIE: In third place, on 40650 points… Thriller!
LIVY shudders, has a heart attack, and slumps to the ground. The Thriller children, FINI, and MABEL swarm around her, doing silly things to try to get her alive, and the lights turn red before fading.

SCENE 3: the thriller cabin
The Thriller cabin has been turned into a makeshift hospital, with LIVY on a stretcher and the other leaders constantly checking her. Half the children are writing furiously, trying to get to first place, and half are checking up on LIVY.
LIVY, weakly: Write… words…
The children chatter excitedly, running to LIVY.
JUICE: That's the first thing she's said all day.
RECCA: Of course, she could just be trying to give us a last message.
Everyone else looks at her.
LIVY: You need… to get us… in… first…
MADDIE: We should write. Now. She might be seeing something from the other side - it could be the only way to save her.
JUICE: That's not true-
LIVY: Save me… by… being… first…
JUICE: Okay, fine. Let's go, Thriller!
The Thriller campers rush to the typewriters, the leaders not far behind, and the lights fade.

SCENE 4: the main cabin
The Main Cabin is filled to the brim with sprinting Thriller campers, papers in hand, most in a rough line to get points added.
RECCA: I did the weekly! Two thousand five hundred points for Thriller please.
All the other Thriller campers come forward, their voices meshing together, saying they have completed the daily or weekly. A rumbling noise comes from the back-left corner of the stage, but most people ignore it - until potatoes start coming from offstage. LIVY, covered in potatoes and generally looking like a potato, enters from there and sprints across the stage, going through other campers to get to the word-adding stand.
LIVY, booming voice: I have finished the daily, and the weekly, and a three-hundred word critique. AND I WON A WORD WAR AGAINST SKYLAR!!! THREE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS FOR THRILLER!!!!!!
AMETHYST (the person at the word-adding stand): …Okay. Well, that puts Thriller in first place, then.
The Thriller campers, delighted, hoist LIVY above their heads and twirl her around, cheering ‘go livy’ and things like that. The spotlight is on Livy, and the other leaders encourage the audience to join in the chant as the lights fade.
FINI and LIVY get the spotlight. Nobody else is around anymore.
BOTH: That's a wrap! We'll see you next time on Raising Trouble with Livy and Fini!
Now the lights really fade.

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