It was a tale as old as time. A prince, caught up in the horrors of an arranged marriage. A pretty maid, foolish enough to think he loved her. A dark secret, whispered into the aftermath of tangled sheets. But instead of the acceptance she'd always longed for, her true love gave her something else...a sharp blade through her chest, and a swift kick that sent her over the edge of the cliff into icy water.
This plot if definitely up for any changes or ideas you can think of. The basic premise was that my character was a witch working in the palace as a personal servant to the prince. They got a little too close, she gave a little too much, and when he found out what she was he considered it his duty to kill her. Rather than having her burned at the stake, his last act of love was the mercy to take her into the woods and have her killed without the jeering of the crowds. What a ladykiller, right? So, she's got a few problems on her hands. One, everyone knows she's a witch and there's no life left for her in the kingdom of men. Two, unbeknownst to him(or maybe even her), she's carrying his baby; the bastard heir to the throne. Four, that water's VERY cold. Oh, did you miss three? Well, that's obvious isn't it? She's got a blade through her chest. My idea was to have your character be some sort of elf, who happens to pull her from the water. Not because he would have any qualms over letting a human drown, but because he senses her magic, and elves have trouble letting that sink to the bottom of a river. The elvish aren't exactly at war with humanity, but the two races hate each other with a fiery passion. However, with the way things are going, war might not be too far off. Like I said, totally open to change, and your ideas are much appreciated.
The Heart Does Go On
Girls like her spent their entire lives waiting for someone like him to come along. Girls like her painted pictures of men like him on the dusty floor beside their broken beds, saw his face in the water stains that grew and grew as the April downpours of London released their fury on the crumbling buildings. He'd lost something, she could see it in his eyes, but she wasn't there to fill the void. No, she was a revenge tactic, a last minute decision, a very bad idea. But girls like her dreamed of him, didn't they? He was giving her freedom, wasn't he? Or was it simply a more expensive noose, tightened around her neck? But girls like her...they dreamed of men like him. And so, without another moment of hesitation, she blurted out a quiet "Yes."
This plot is centered around your character and his life, so it's VERY open to change. The basic premise is that he's a wealthy heir to some company, and his father had set up an arranged marriage for him in America. At the same time he writes him of the news, he also informs him that his mother has died. Heartless, cold, uncaring, your character cannot believe his father's audacity. In a fit of rage, he writes that he has already married the love of his life, and the two of them will be arriving in America soon. How will they get there? Titanic. Of course, we all know where that leads. There's also a slight problem; your character is not actually married. In a moment of panic, the day before the ship leaves, he walks into a brothel and meets my character. She's one of the higher end prostitutes, the sort trained in etiquette should a rich man wish to have company at the opera before he has company in his hotel room. That said, she's not entirely thrilled with her situation. He explains the situation, and promises her a life of ease if she'll tell a few lies and become his wife. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, so she agrees. The two are married one day, and they board the Titanic the next. Where it goes from there, well, we'll see. I don't want this to be a rushed sort of romance, or a love at first sight sort of thing. It's a business transaction, nothing more(at first). Think Pretty Woman meets Titanic.
Looking back, they realized they'd missed it all. Years of putting off living to try and fight the disease, years of suffering in hope of gaining years in return. It all seemed silly when the world stopped spinning; the idea of giving years for years as idiotic as cutting off your hand in hopes of growing another. Only after you'd sawn through the flesh and bone did you remember that limbs couldn't grow back, and only after you'd lost the battle did you see that cancer had never intended to let you win. It was a pretty lie constructed by your doctors, your parents, your friends and family. You only believed in death when they told you it was imminent, though you'd felt it in your bones for years. The sick part was that time had been running out all along, you had been dying all along. This wasn't your death sentence, no. This was just the day you finally decided to believe it.
So, the premise of this is that our two characters have been given the 'death sentence', so to speak. They've been told that their cancer is too advanced, and that treatment should be stopped so they can enjoy whatever shred of their lives they have left. However, I don't want this to be the 'they meet in treatment, blah blah blah' sort of romance where their bond is simply because they're both dying. I want to two characters to meet outside of that world, where they both think the other is perfectly healthy. They would lie to the other, against the wishes of their friends and family, and pretend they aren't living on borrowed time. What was supposed to be a 'last fling' of sorts would turn into something much more, and as things grew more serious, they'd be forced to tell the other that they're sick. Imagine how surprised they'll be when the love of their life is dying as well.
Hand in Hand
Some called her a prodigy. Her paintings weren't abstract or modern, nor blurred versions of people and places she'd seen before. She painted landscapes, buildings, faces, worlds, and none of them existed. They looked so real they might have been photographs, and more than once people had claimed they were. It wasn't true, of course. They were the labors of long hours, tiny brushes, and hands so steady she might have been a neurosurgeon. Born on a tiny farm in Tennessee, normalcy was fleeting. She spent her childhood running through fields, wading in creeks, chasing after the son of a family friend who always seemed two steps ahead of her. But by the time she was seven, that all came to an end. The world wanted a piece of her, and despite the warnings from friends and family, her parents were more than willing to give it. They moved to New York, they bought her a studio, the hired tutors because she didn't have time for the lengthy education public and private schools would require. Besides, what did she need it for? She had the world at her fingertips, and pre calc would never help her paint. They traveled the world, they met the best of the best and the worst of the worst. They showed her off like a well bred dog, and then sent her off to her room where she could let the pressure flow out over the canvas like blood from a vein. Needless to say, she grew into a very interesting sort of young woman. The paparazzi were nothing but an every day occurrence, talk shows all seemed the same, and expensive gallery openings were her normal Saturday night. Her friends were artists with values, eccentricities, and sometimes drug habits that left them all little in common with her. They were older, odder, and desperate to find out what made her tick, as everyone else seemed to be. She didn't party, she didn't cut off her fingers or dye her hair purple, she didn't sleep around, she didn't trash hotel rooms. But she made art like someone who did, and she masses of money for little but breathing. But artists have a way of losing it all, though hers wasn't to drugs or romance. She lost something on a busy freeway to mess of semi's, tow trucks, and anyone else unlucky enough to get sucked into the chaos. Some said she should have lost her life. But it was much worse than that, and she knew it as soon as she saw the metal of the car, bent, crooked, pinning her right arm. She'd lost her ability to breathe.
So basically, my character is a famous painter, probably around seventeen. She loses her dominant arm in a freak accident, and therefore her ability to paint the way she's so famous for. Her left hand just isn't up to the task, and no one quite knows what to do with her anymore. Her mother is also going to be killed in the wreck, though the two were never incredibly close. Her father, heartbroken and a little bit crazy, sends her to 'recover' away from the press and the pressure. He sends her to live with her god parents(your character's parents) on a farm somewhere in Tennessee. The two were close when they were little, but haven't seen each other in years. Needless to say, neither of them are exactly thrilled that she's moving into a strange house with strange people that don't know her. Not to mention she's still dealing with the trauma of losing a limb. I guess this could be considered sort of a 'country romance', though I'm not looking for the stereotypical city girl meets cowboy sort of thing. I want it to run a little deeper than that.