22.

sadness

Vorah looked over the forests, slick with an oily fog that hung over the entire island. She hopped from one floating stone to another, uncaring about the mud seeping between her toes. She'd shed her disguise back with Ris, clad once more in a thin linen shift. Her thick violet hair spilled down her back, longer than usual with months of disrepair. Gold-on-lavender eyes unbound, she took in the rest of the landscape.

Ris, in any animal form, had the enhanced senses of a beast. She had to lose his scent, or else he would swoop down on her and carry her away to another town.

Splashing down into a weak stream, she grimaced at the thick silt on the bottom and felt the leeches pop beneath her toes. Her shift already ruined, she sighed and reached back, tying her hair into a large plait and winding it up on her head.

A great cry shattered the silence, and Vorah looked upward, in time to see the great form of dragonRis wheel through the sky, screaming, and fly to the east.

A great depression weighed on her heart, but she could only turn to the muck of the stream and press on.

21.

dignity

Among the dreaming world, among the large dreamers, the ones who had their own hall, there was no sense of humility. These people, if they even were anymore, were tall, proud and graceful. They had become so used to their station, playing with the hopes and despair of all humans that they thought themselves above it.

In truth, they never slept. Their duties were too pressing, and their bodies had evolved to process the pressure. They were always sending out dreams, thoughts, feelings, even when they were in a class, debate, or meal.

They would absently dust pillows, shuffle apprentices from one hall to the next, and they never seemed to trip, fall or run into anything. Some of the younger dreamers would try to pull pranks on them, but the head dreamers always seemed to know about them. Ignore them, step around them, and whap the culprits on the head with a soft object.

The head dreamers knew of many things, but nothing so much as dignity.

20.

an oasis in a wasteland

Nobody had ever survived Johara. Not really, not in truth. She allowed a few to leave, but their minds were so scrambled from trying to process her that all they said was that she was 'a beautiful oasis'.

True, many plants grew in the cool, moist corners of her crumbling walls, but there was no lush garden. No large pool of clear, life giving water. A silver cage covered with silver vines.

Perhaps they thought of Johara herself of an oasis, secret and hidden from mundane life. A spot of beauty in an ugly world.

19.

an abandoned monestary

Johara wondered, occasionally, at the purpose of her building. There was sand on the floor and the roof was crumbling, but the walls were high and the windows narrow. She didn't remember much about religion, and didn't really care, but found it funny that her cage could be in a place where people worshiped gods.

There no relics, no murals and no leftover dogma to pierce her ears with, but sometimes, just sometimes, Johara felt at peace. She felt like everything was going to be fine, like she could do anything.

At those times, she would sit at the bottom of her cage and brush her hair, wondering if this was what it was like to be a god.

18.

dreams

The apprentice rushed through the halls, toes gripping the thick red carpet as she ran. Her slight form was almost lost amid the heavy robes she wore, embroidered and dyed richly.

The alcoves along the side, hollowed out from the stone slabs and inlaid with bright glass lanterns, they spilled pillows into the walkways. It was difficult to navigate. A dreamer for every petty dream, there were hundreds in the complex. A thing Pane hoped to achieve one day. She was on a special mission to one of The Dreamers. Love, in fact, with her own gilded halls and beautiful people on beautiful cushions, often in pairs.

The Dreamers were always rare, and there were only five of them. They could dream while awake and still run their own halls, having their own sects to make up for impure, muddied dreams. Half formed or underlying currents.

Pane was apprenticing under a subsection of Revenge. They figured she was a shoe in, her parents having been murdered and all. She didn't have the heart to tell them that she hadn't loved her parents anyway and if she met their killer, would probably just shrug and walk the other direction. The halls of Revenge were cold and dank, with moldy pillows and thin blankets. Nobody there was ever in a good mood, and Pane was going to try her hardest to transfer somewhere better.

To Love, she carried a special package. She carried it close to her heart and tried her hardest not to think about it. Some of the dreamers could pick up on stray thoughts and they could broadcast it to everyone in the complex.

The more she thought about it, the harder she ran. Some dreams just couldn't wait.

17.

a lush garden

Compared the lush gardens of home, with their sprawling green carpets and tall belladonna stalks, this garden was empty.

The princess looked around, her gaze reflected back at her through a thousand diamonds, and lamented herself. To save her family, to save her sister...this is what she had done.

Listlessly, she snapped the soft gold stem of a ruby daisy and held the flower to her nose. Nothing but the grotesque tinge of metal. It was all she smelled, lately. Certainly, he had been kind to make her something so beautiful, this resting place. Even if it was a grotesque parody of her own gardens back home. She appreciated it, truly in her heart.

But at that moment, the girl would trade her entire family for just one plant that could grow.

16.

liminality

Johara existed outside of the span of time, and yet her body continued to age. Her hair grew, her nails constantly needed polishing, she could sunburn and heal. The cage, it seemed, protected her from all elements, including man.

The one time she could not kill an entire battalion of men, the cage defended her. Four men, survived from two hundred, came up to pry the bars off the cage. Part of the floor scraped away and shot through the bars, straight into the hearts of those soldiers.

It had hissed and grumbled at her, 'Use your talents, you stupid thing. Shouldn't have to defend you.'

She noticed that her clothes never became moth eaten or dirty, and always seemed to fix themselves whenever she split a seam. Over time, the embroidery become much more elaborate and sprawling. Near the end of her reign, she wore pure silver with no cloth in sight.

Living in between space and time, able to touch men but unable to be touched, never really took its toll on her.

Johara was never really meant for the world of men.

15.

vehicles in motion

Johara, long after she had first stepped into the cage and before she was too ancient to remember her own name, had never seen a locomotive vehicle before. True, she had entered her sanctuary when the desert was still pure, sultans still reigned and the primary mode of transportation was still a camel. She could watch out of the high windows as the sand blew away the decorative stone molding and shaped the landscape outside. Her cage never rusted, her face never sagged. She would lounge in the brief glimpses of sunlight the narrow windows afforded her, absorbing the sunlight for the bitter shade.

The first time she heard an engine, she did not panic. The Jewel of the East merely pulled herself into her seat and stared out the window, watching five sand colored tanks pull up to her shelter.

Men approached, and she narrowed her sights in on one specifically.

He was younger than the rest, still believed in love and beauty. Still thought that all good things would come if he asked.

A smile curled her lips.

14

suffering

She had never seen anyone suffer before. She had seen death, but never the dying.

The grey skin, the brittle veins, the hollow eyes so dark around the edges. He stared at her mournfully. Len tilted her head and sat in the cheap chair next to his cot.

Ris coughed and smiled at her, feebly. "My top assassin...never thought I'd die before you."

She shrugged. "I always told you, the things you indulge in..."

He chuckled dryly. "True, you did mention it once or twice. But really, Len, I have some things I need to tell you."

He rambled on about the organization, money, contacts, and she nodded without really listening. The only thing she could think was that she was staring death in the face right now, and one day he would be on her face like he was on Ris's.

13.

forest of the night

Once, when she was a small girl, her caravan had gone through a great forest. It was dead, dry and twisted, but the branches laced the sky and made her want for greater things. She could not imagine the trees coated with leaves and moss.

The Jewel of the East curled up on the floor of her cage and ran her fingers through her ever-growing hair. Holding her hands up to the moonlight, she crossed her fingers and tilted her head. If she held her imagination up to the light, it almost looked like the branches of a tree.

Laying back on the floor of her cage, she whispered to the metal, "Silver, can you become a tree for me?"

The silver sighed against her. "Could try, but would not be the same. Too rigid, too hard. Not organic."

She stared up at the ceiling, unseeing. "It doesn't matter. I only saw it once, I barely remember."

The metal chucked against her skin, raising her hair and making her shiver. "That is a lie. Know you well, you remember everything." It gave her a slight static shock. "Very well, will try."

The shapes it produced were close, but so far that Johara had to look away.

12.

complementary

Marie hustled down the stairs, her large skirt flowing behind her like a waterfall. She was a noblewoman, too proud to carry the violet silk and too stingy to hire servants to do it for her.

She was late to the opera, she knew that without looking at the huge clock above the foyer. Throwing her lacy shawl over her shoulders and securing it with a swirly silver cloak pin, she nodded at the robotic servant that stood at the door. The latest model, this one was all shiny chrome and diamond accents.

His robotic voice sounded oddly affectionate when he intoned, "Good evening, Mrs. Goodsby, that color greatly compliments your hair."

She froze for half a second, taking a moment to touch her brass curls before giving him a tight smile and nod. "Thank you, number four."

Bowing smoothly, he said, "I will call for the hovercar, shall I?"

She nodded, staring at him. She knew the new models came with artificial intelligence, but...

No, it was silly.

11.

fright

Johara was not frightened. Her bravery had been her only companion as a child, and she saw no reason to cast it aside as an adult. Her bravery made her unafraid of the armies that came for her, made her sure that they would all lay down and die, like sick dogs.

The silver bars of her cage sang of loyalty, and how to secure it. The sapphires nestled within the great wrought flowers gently let their secrets of love show in the moonlight. The tattoos that slowly appeared on her skin like a stain whispered of desire, and what it could make a man do.

'All you must do is ask,' they said, 'and they will do what you require.'

By the time the first warrior found her, she had become a master at seduction. The bars and jewels and other cold things shivered with joy when she commanded her first kill, and found it was easy, so easy, to make a man die.

The only thing that could crack Johara's bravery, her mask glued in place by her determination, was the idea that one day, she would meet a man who would laugh at her lofty requests.

10.

blossom

As I raised my arms above my head, there was no pain. Almost unbelieving, the disease that had plagued me had vanished. The alien nurses had tended me, and made me well.

I looked over to my attendant, a healer by the human name of Alice. Her skin was so dark it seemed to absorb the light, her frock painfully white against her. Her plump lips stretched into a smile and her orange eyes narrowed gently. "There is a price for the cure." she said, her fangs making her English lisp slightly. She gestured with a clawed hand to my chest.

I put my hand to my breastbone and felt soft, silky petals. A pink flower had blossomed out of my chest. There was no pain, only a slight discomfort that comes with having an alien thing in your body. I looked at her, confused. She sighed. "Your healing took many seeds. You must give them back. Each flower gives a seed. Come back every three months, we will harvest them." She smiled again, but I found no comfort in it.

I had traded death for slavery, a walking farm.

9.

a collar

It was old, rusted chain with illegible tags.

Attached to an ancient skeleton, the scientists pondered it's meaning.

They all wondered, "Why would anyone put a collar on a person?".

8.

brown

The land was brown.

Brown rocks, brown trees, brown water...Everything was caked with brown.

The other girls, who were also brown, had tittered over the different hues of brown, from golden to caramel to chocolate and back again. Johara, who even detested the color of her skin, eyes and hair, hated the color brown.

She would go to the desert when it was moonlight and admire the landscape tarnished silver. Everything was much more beautiful, and she would often gaze at the white moon, wishing it would replace the harsh light of day.

Her small tribe, nomadic in nature, stumbled upon a building, half buried in the sand. Old and intricate, it was obviously a labor of love. Some of the elders agreed that it was a mausoleum, a tribute to the lost love of a sultan past.

Johara knew better.

She felt a tug, deep inside of her, and knew that there was a cage within. Beautiful and graceful, but still a cage. They broke open the door and she saw it for the first time, like reliving a memory.

That night, when she was under the moon, her skin became copper burnished with silver, her eyes became bright and liquid, and she became the Jewel of the East.

7.

warm

It seemed that my heart had never felt anything.

Even when I was small, I did not lean toward affection for other children, only a mild curiosity. Even to my family, my proclaims of love were mechanical, rehearsed and false to my ears.

My mother would always smile, and all I could think was that she would have wrinkles there when she was older.

I was the perfect candidate for special ops in the military. Special mission, undisclosed location, searching for the artifact "Jewel of the East".

The first time I felt warmth was when that glorious creature looked me in the face, smiled, and said, "If you stand very still, I will reward you with your heart." It was something I hadn't even known I wanted until that moment.

Then Peters shot me in the head, and the last warm thing I felt was the blood running down my face.

6.

jewel

Poised and perfect, the men found her hanging from the ceiling in a giant cage.

They all stopped, lowering their guns and pulling up their night vision goggles, for the moonlight made her shine in ways almost unnatural. The men were all rugged soldiers, battle hardened and unmoveable. But for her, they shrank to their knees.

The country they were invading was harsh, desert alternating between blistering hot and numbingly cold. Snow would blow from the north, only to evaporate under the baking sun. This particular team had been brought to find the Jewel of the East, said to possess power unknown to any man. Their government had wanted it, and they were sent to retrieve it.

But this...they would not, could not have known.

Her skin was dark and shone, like copper burnished with silver. Her legs were long and lean, dangling from her perch. Heavily brocaded, her traditional clothing (consisting of a wrapped skirt, tunic and shawl that was wrapped around her in a complicated pattern) seemed to be made of pure gold, inlaid with glass and gems. Her face was pretty, if rather plain. She looked much the same as many of the women in the area, smooth of skin, sharp of nose and full of lip. Her eyes, however, held knowledge unfathomable. Bright and dark, they stared through the men, making them look away.

Her hair was swept back into a long, heavy braid. The color was black, but it shone so that it seemed to be an onyx mirror. It was threaded with ornate silver rings, large and polished, and unbound at the end. The last few strands of hair dangled from her perch, some ten feet from the floor of her cage, swept over the floor and curled around the bottoms of the delicate bars.

She tilted her head back and arched one sculpted brow.

The men all stared at her, unable to move or speak.

She gave a throaty chuckle and gave them all a coy look. She moved one slim hand, beckoning. The skin there was etched with silver, an intricate pattern.

One man stepped forward. The youngest, Peters. He licked his lips and spoke, hushed in the silence of the grand room. "You...are the Jewel of the East?"

Her voice was like a thousand bells, ringing softly. "I am. What would you ask of me?"

His blue eyes trailed over the bars of her cage. There were sculpted vines, and flowers. Each one had a sapphire as big as his thumbnail in the middle. "Are you...a weapon?"

This time her laughter was so sweet it was terrible, and all of the men winced at the beauty of it. "A weapon? Well, dear boy, I suppose you could say that. After all, not one of you could kill me, not even if you tried. And all of you would die, if only I asked it." She smiled softly at them, even though they were too busy looking at the floor to see it. "The power of a woman, the power of a beautiful jewel."

Peters nodded, soft and meek as a lamb. "Ma'am, we would ask you to come with us, to visit our country," they could never cage her, even her cage now seemed less of a barrier than her beauty, "and to become our weapon." He swallowed heavily.

She sighed, the sound of one hand slipped over the twisting links of her perch uncommonly harsh. "What is your name?"

He snapped his head up, almost shaking. "Peters, ma'am, Peters."

She smiled at him, even white teeth wonderful and everlasting. "Peters. If you kill the other men, I will come down and afford you a kiss."

He didn't even hesitate.

5.

horror

The girl had been sheltered all her life, on a grassy knoll to the north. She had been fed a delicate diet of honeysuckle and mare milk. Staying small, she never grew beyond the height of a small blueberry bush.

Her keeper was a sad old man, bringing her meals in small earthen wear bowl. He would brush her soft hair and plait it, mend her dresses and talk to her about bright things. He never seemed to get much larger, or much younger.

The girl was never allowed to go to the village. Her keeper made this too clear, too clear for her curiosity to be quelled.

She wandered into the village on her own, stupid little thing she was.

Despite her best dress, shiny hair and innocent eyes, none could see past her deformities.

The old man wept the day his half-kraken daughter was murdered in the town square.

4.

wonder

The shop was full of gems. Bright and small, they dazzled me in the warm sunshine. The windows were thrown open, dappled light pouring in through the trees that crowded the small building. A small white cat lounged in the sill, green eyes open to slits and staring at me.

I was astounded by the sizes and shapes and colors of all of the stones. A bowl full of milky white stones shot with color called to me, and I meandered over to them.

At ten years old, I knew to mind my mother. She would get very cross when I did things she told me not to, including shoving my hands into a bowl of expensive items.

As she was bartering with the owner of the shop, she didn't really notice me. The owner was an old woman, her pale yellow hair pulled back into a severe bun and one dark eye was lazy and seemed to follow me. She smiled when she saw me turning the stones over in my hands.

My mother, glancing one at me and then staring hard, hissed my name.

The old woman laughed and said, "Oh no Molly! He's a bright lad. Opals are the stone of love, luck, money and great healing." Her eyes both trained on me now, ancient and wise. "If he's drawn to them, he'll be something special some day, mark my words."

In my foolish youth, I gazed at her with wonder and did a very stupid thing.

I believed her.

3.

celebration

There was color. That was my first thought.

Pink, blue, green and yellow. The deep green of the ground, the unending cobalt of the sky. The colors were swimming together, my eyes were watering and unfocused. My head was still reeling from the blow delivered earlier, I could feel the blood running down my collar.

Stumbling forward, propelled by the brawny men behind me, I stepped right into the middle of a large celebration. A great fire roared in the center, the flames flashing green, blue, pink and even black in great swirls as a variety of women tossed handfuls of bright powders into the heat. They were dressed in patterned skirts with different flora and fauna on them. I could pick out the bright pink of a tulip and the great antlers of a deer.

The firelight reflected off of my pale skin and threw strange reflections on my guards, who had come up to either side of me. Their skin was the darkest of all the revelers, nearly pitch back. It absorbed the light and gave none back. I felt a hint of coldness.

My rumpled white shirt and plain brown britches made me wiggle with embarrassment. My vision cleared and I stood up straighter. I tried to walk forward, only for one of my guards to grab my thin arm with his giant, meaty hand. I turned my head up and gazed into his sour features.

He and his companion were much the same. Both had greasy black hair slicked back into twin queues, nearly to their trim waists. Strong features, they had identical jawlines and noses. I looked closer, flicking my eyes back and forth. If not twins, then brothers at the least. Their eyes, no longer resting on me, were dark. The sclera was a pale blue, even in the firelight. I had seen no such coloration in an adult before, normally it was only young children who claimed such. Their bodies were large, muscular and riddled with scars. Their clothes were stained and patched with different swatches of fabric. A tunic belted into loose fitting shorts, with crudely made sandals seemed appropriate in the remaining atmosphere.

Turning my view to the rest of the proceedings, I observed that the men were dressed mostly the same as my cohorts, with little color variation. The women, however, were dressed in bright, patterned linens. Low bodices and flowing skirts that showed a majority of thigh when they danced, dark legs slick with sweat and scented oils...

One girl with deep chestnut hair to her waist caught my eye with hers and moved her hips provocatively. Her skirts were patterned with owls and moths, her large abalone necklace reminded me of the moon. She swayed to me and spoke in a strange, thick tongue to the twins. They released me and gave me a push towards her.

The instant her warm, dark hand touched mine, I was lost. I forgot about my family, the large pack of wares left where they fell in the forest, the wound throbbing at the back of my head, I even forgot my own name.

She led me to the fire and gave me a rough pouch filled with ocher-colored powder. I watched the fire reflected in her eyes and was not afraid. She gave me a slow smile and lead me closer to the fire. She took a pinch of her own powder, a light lavender with a hint of glitter, and bade me do the same. Together, we threw the powder on the fire, and it turned a brilliant green.

Without warning, she pushed me into the emerald flames.

I screamed, I think, but then I did not burn. I felt myself changing, the skin crisping and darkening, and my hair gradually burning away, but I felt no pain.

My world seemed to change as I watched through the fire. Visions of my old life, my job and my family, seemed to melt away, and be replaced by grand carnivals and days of travel. I could see the lovely woman gathering poorly patched clothes, regarding them and then retrieving a much smaller size, and smiling at me through the flickering barrier.

With ease, she reached into the fire and pulled me out.

Everyone cheered, and congratulated me. I understood what they were saying, and I still could not remember my old name. They said that this was common, and would fade with time.

I stared at all of the bright colors, but could not bring myself to join the celebration.

*took me forever to get motivated on this one. D: Over an hour, at least, just on writing*

2.

muscular arms

I ran my hands over and under the span of his arms. He was a rock to me, a guiding force in the war. Though the skin was torn and bloody, I could still feel the firm muscle of his arms protecting me.

"Honey," I whispered, reaching up with my small frame to press my lips closer to the shell of his ear, "Honey, they're coming. Please, you have to get up. We won't last much longer with you laying here."

The captain of his squad, lined with fur and chain-mail, heavy gilded plates of metal weighing down on me, he took a shuddering breath. I felt something warm and sticky on my face, and burying myself into his arms once more. I encouraged him to move, pressing up against his armor and beginning to panic. I could hear the heavy footfalls of our enemy coming closer to our tent.

I pressed my face into the heavy fur around his collar, breathing deeply of his musk and sweat for what might've been the last time. I had been there, when he had killed this bear. The meat was unusable, but the fur had become his cloak and our blanket.

This man had fought for me. Three villages back, I had been a prostitute, unwillingly. Sold to even out the debt of my father, I had been too young, too vulnerable at the time. Years of work had tempered me, made me sad and unresisting. I was not favored, but neither was I ignored. Not expensive, but not cheap. Average.

Then he came, my captain. Slaughtered all in the village, all of the scum and vermin. All of those who had treated me unkindly. My savior with the giant arms, he caught me looking at him from my second story window with the dirty glass. He did not see fear in my eyes, and took me under his care. Under his attentions, my dull hair became bright, my figure became full and lush once more. I held love for him in my eyes, instead of indifference toward my fate.

I was his lady, plundered and pillaged only by him. The best lover I ever had.

And now, on the floor of our home, he was dying and I was trapped by it. I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes.

With a heavy breath, he spoke. His deep baritone rung in my heart, as always. "Dear heart, do you remember what I taught you? How to swing, where to hit? The chinks in their armor?"

I nodded against him, the tears starting to pour out of my face. "I do, my captain. I remember all of the training, and how to wield the sword."

He groaned and pushed himself off of me with his last breath. "Kill them, Isa. Kill them all." His giant sword, jeweled and worked with love and blood, fell from his large hand.

Reaching down, I straightened my plain linen shift. Leaning over, I closed his eyes. "I will, my love, I will." Under his care, I had also learned the art of death. My muscles had grown strong enough to wield his sword, and I lifted it now. Clasping his cloak around my shoulders, I spaced my legs apart and waited.

The first man who opened the tent was leering, expecting the captain's infamous whore. What he got was a warrior queen who killed him with no remorse in her heart.


Time: an hour with breaks.

1.

a pleasure pavilion

I approached the strange tent with all the foreboding of a man going to his death. There was the sweet scent of cloves on the wind, shadows of beautiful people playing on the painted silk.

I was plain of face and thick of girth, unsure why I was invited to this party, this pretty fort filled with pretty things. I imagined that my reputation for molding beautiful flowers out of the finest glass secured me an invitation, but I had no gifts to offer on my person. Hyacinths, crocus, daffodils, I could make any flower as hearty or delicate as I chose. I could not, however, make anything as lovely as the creatures within that tent.

Pulling back the layers of chiffon and satin, I pushed through to the pleasure pavilion.

Young, elegant people bejeweled with crystal and diamond, clad only just in the sheerest of fabrics. Gossamer and moonlight. Many were indulging in mind-altering substances, reclining on large embroidered cushions and blowing peacock plumes of smoke up and beyond. Several were indulging in each other, twined together on large round beds with ornate golden frames.

I wandered through this place, this wasteland filled with smooth surfaces and shiny eyes, pink cheeks and taunt stomachs.

Pained by the hollowness of it all, I closed my eyes and thought of my glass flowers. Somehow, they were more real to me than any of these young, stupid things.

Intro

Welcome to Emily's Daily Drabbles!

I will be using http://www.magatsu.net/art/index.php to give myself a prompt with which to write a small story, no more than five pages, every day. I'm going to try it out for a year and see how it goes! I'm attempted to further my writing career, as in start it at all, and I think this would be a good way to start!