Everlark Fic Exchange Sneak Peek
Hey all! Below is a sneak peek of my submission for the upcoming @everlarkficexchange. I know we were supposed to post these over the weekend, but I had literally zero words written until this morning. As such, this is rough and not beta’d…I’m not kidding, this is first draft in it’s rawest form. So please forgive errors and suckage. Story is untitled right now, and will probably turn into a multi-chapter WIP because who am I trying to kid, oneshots are not my thing. And honestly, I’ve been wanting to write this story for about a year now and this gives me an excuse to do it.
“Did you tell your father ‘goodnight’?” She kisses first one forehead and then the second, once more laying her hand flat on the fevered surface before patting her child’s cheek with a cool cloth. So far, it’s only the oldest showing the signs, but she knows it’s only a matter of time.
“Yes, Mama. Can we have a bedtime story?”
“Just one,” she promises with a smile and settles at the foot of one of the narrow beds. “Let’s see…”
“Once upon a time,” the youngest says and giggles when both mother and the oldest scowl slightly.
“Mama’s telling the story,” the oldest chastises.
The youngest sticks out a pink tongue and the oldest huffs, so she continues the story before a fight can break out in earnest.
“See, you got it wrong anyways.”
“–not far from here, there was a village, caught in the early days of spring. It was a much like any other village, with small fields to grow crops, a blacksmith to do metal work, a grocers, a butcher, a baker–”
“Was there a candlestick maker, too?”
“Hush! I wanna hear the story!”
“And a candlestick maker, too,” she says with a soft smile, ignoring the muffled laughter from the doorway behind her. Already enthralled with the story, the children don’t even notice. “There was also a healer, a woman who knew all the tricks to soothe pain and terrible illness. And the healer’s daughter was engaged to marry the baker’s son, but see, in this village, it was a tradition for marriages to chosen by the parents and the village elders. This was an old custom, started many years ago, and like many old customs, the reasons behind them faded with each generation until no one really understood why those customs were still around. The marriage contract was written and all but signed, but the healer’s daughter–”
“What was her name?”
“We’ll call her Flower for now,” the mother says, not losing her stride with the tale. “Flower didn’t want to marry the baker’s son, because she was in love with someone else.”
“Who, Mama?” both children gasp.
“She was in love with a hunter.”