Pain looks great on other people. That’s what they’re for.

Yesterday I finally forced myself to rewrite chapter 10, so I guess this means I am over half-way through draft 2 of Sea Rose Red. Current word-count is standing at just over 66k, so I should hit at least 75 000.

In celebration(?), I give you this snippet:

 

We return from Lambs’ Island; baskets heavy, sand in our hair, vai on our breaths. Esta is excited, dancing along the causeway rocks with no care for the slippery seaweed, or the crunch of periwinkles under her bare feet.

I’ve never seen her so happy. For the first time, she looks her age and not like a dour little midget. Dash holds my hand the whole way back, and Lils and Nala help each other over the rocks, laughing as the wind whips their wet slips around their legs, snags at the finest tendrils of hair worked loose from their respective buns. The tickle of dream-miasma from the few loose coils is barely a feather-brush against my thoughts, lending the day a hallucinatory feeling, like I’ve been drinking ‘ink-laced via by the gallon.

“You best watch that hair, Lils, darling,” Dash yells at the two girls. “It’s drying.”

Lils pauses to twist the stray wisps into thin braids, and Nala helps her pin them tightly into her bun. They look like ghost girls on the rocks, with the sun low in the horizon. and the taint of the red death staining the waters behind them.

This book is bringing me down. Why can’t I just write something happy and fluffy for a change?

 


related post

Published by

cat_hellisen

I write.