This 8-10 sentence blog hop is hosted by The Weekend Writing Warriors. (Click the link for the list of participants, or rules if you want to join!)
This is a snippet from my yet-to-be-completed NaNoWriMo story, Black Ink Plague, a fantasy about inkbloods, people who were left at the roots of a magic tree as babies, and can use charcoal from those trees to write and cast spells.
The main character, an inkblood called Liar, who works as hired killer, harvested a branch in the woods, is startled by a snapping twig–by another inkblood, with whom she has some awkward conversation about the weather, and tells her that her name is partially based on a lyre, an instrument she plays.
“Oh, that’s interesting! Do you still play?” Harmony asked.
“I spent many evenings bent over those strings, so I keep it up,” Liar said. “And you?”
The rest of the long walk passed with Harmony burbling about her singing, and the many musical talents of her sisters and female cousins, who gathered together in groups to entertain the family at holidays.
All Liar had to do was make encouraging noises, or ask a question to set Harmony off again. Even a hopeful, sheltered woman like Harmony had limits to her faith in the goodness in the hearts of others. Best not to test them.
* * *
Black Ink Plague is set in a world similar to ours, with the addition of the Rakau tree, which has magical properties–charcoal or ink from the tree can be used to cast spells. However, only inkbloods, babies who were left overnight at a Rakau tree’s roots on their first full moon, can harvest and use the tree. The price they pay for their magic is that the ink infects them, staining their skin and eventually forming words from the spells they cast on their skin. These words change their lives in unexpected ways.