Mole

Word association Game!

Sleep

𝓣ℎ𝑒 𝓕𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝒻 𝓐𝑙𝑦𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑎 & 𝓕𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡.

𝓣he library was a beautiful building, but it was not nearly as beautiful as Lady Alyssana, Lord Finnegan thought. There was something more classical about the woman than any other thing in the world. Afterall, beauty would save the world. However, he did not want his mind to wander. He had a few things himself he had to get at the library. It was duty that he attempted at least a couple times before flouncing himself forward with getting some sort of librarian to set him straight, “If you feel faint, Walter, by the shield of Saint George the Trophy bearer, say something to Lord Christopher before we have tragedy on our hands,” he breathed in a little, looking down at his wristwatch. He was already feeling a little resentful of the travel himself, but being around Lady Alyssana had forced him to prove something of himself.

Was this how all his lady friends felt after he doused them?

Of course, not.

It was merely impossible.

“Yes, brother,” Walter smiled sweetly with his hazel eyes. His lips cusped upwards as he looked to Lord Christopher. All the adventure that was about to unfold. There were other types of adventures that could grasp them, but libraries, especially this one, had a special knack for surprising each and every one of its guests with something different and unusual. There was a unique magical mist that seemed to set it apart from some of the even larger libraries in the other cities. Lord Christopher had only heard of the few adventures his brother and other acquaintances had been on in those other knowledgeable buildings, but by far, the ones that took him in this particular one were by far the very best.

With that, Lord Walter looked to the pocket watch in Lord Christopher’s hand and followed, as if the device was some sort of compass before putting it away. He quickly began following his friend, both with curiosity wrapped around their minds. It was nothing unusual to see, but in the least, it was still unique as was stated in which the library treated each and every quest with the same special particularities that no two guests or visits were the same.

Lord Finnegan watched as the two younger men wandered through the dissension of books. Their footsteps were slowly lost to the discord, “That’s fine, as long as Walter watches himself more than the books, and honestly, I prefer we take care of you, first,” he smiled with a bit of shy slyness, “If I am not mistaken in assuming that you have a few or more gentle reads in mind?” He was eager to get lost in the rows of books with her and really did prefer the pompous art of letting the lady go first. Besides, it reminded him of the first time they shared a dance

It was a memory he would hold close to him, not just whenever he took a step into the library but as long as the stars flared up in the nighttime mist and the moon surfaced without deceit and as easily to remember and rehearse in his mind as to count the sun to rise in the morning. It was a memory eternally engraved and to cherish all the same, even more now, standing so close to her.

It almost killed him to breathe her in.

𝓣ℎ𝑒 𝓕𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝒻 𝓐𝑙𝑦𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑎 & 𝓕𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡.

𝓛ady Alyssana's lack of response was disheartening, and Lord Finnegan could not help but give her some sort of smile in response. It was rehearsed gentlemanly like the rest of his behaviors. There was much to be said about her silence, and he was not going to push her. The woman's will was an animal of its own, and he was busy taming a different part of her, “Very well, the library it is then,” he spoke for Walter, who was busy juggling the thoughts of speaking and taking another sip of his tea. He was after all is said and done, the clumsier and more bashful version of his older brother.

He looked down at his several wrist watches. They were still ticking in their quietly ticking ways. They had different times for different places around the world. Finnegan had offered to purchase him something that had several dials and on one face, but he refused to wear something of the sorts after getting so attached to the ones already on his arm, “Going to the library sounds as a good idea as any,” Lord Walter finally admitted. He was giddy and was not certain he wanted to show anymore of it. The tea was definitely helping with his fiddling mind, and getting a few books for learning would be quite worth his time. He was always eager to do what his brother said, albeit when the Greys came into their manor, it seemed he suddenly had more worth in amongst the guests.

Lord Walter quickly removed himself from his chair but not before saying, “Excuse me!” And “Yes, let us go!” to Lord Christopher as they went to go don their jackets and other necessities for the trip.

. ❖ .

_{𝓣𝒉𝒆 𝓑𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂 𝒐𝒇 𝓢𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒊𝒍}

𝓣he Bibliotheca of Soleil was across town. It was not the only library in town, but it was the main library. The library had smaller locations for the ones who had a much more difficult time traveling across town, and those particular libraries had not as many glorious books and many repetitive literature that could be found in the main library near the center of the town. This particular library was large and at one point, Lord Walter had gone by himself, and after taking the steam-cranked elevator downwards to the basement, nearly fell to the floor from exhaustion after getting lost.

There were columns of books everywhere with ladders and stairs and traits of flourishing ideas. It was almost a beast of a place to be. However, the entrance being as tidy and finely lit seemed to offer a perpetual steeple of insightful and glorious knowledge that always encouraged anyone who left the library from exhaustion with a new found hope of freedom for learning and education. It is also true that only the library workers, regulars, and nobles find this library easy to navigate.

Lord Finnegan had thought it was a perfect place to murder someone as it is so large, but his admiration for the art or writing tended to overwhelm him whenever he stepped afoot inside the monstrous library. It's Gothic architecture with flying buttresses had some sort of power over him, and he proposed it some sort of middle ground of sorts where government officials and locals could play fairly next to each other without fearing any negative outcomes.

𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒎 - 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

_{a short story | inspired by TDAC#1
chess & relationships}

[+]

<sub>Drowning

It was cold on the patio, and small specks of snow were beginning to fall from the evening sky. It reminded Jennifer
of the warm, summery night, Frederick and she had first met at some bar in the downtown area. Both had just graduated
from college, and he was trying his hardest to be the best man he could be, while she was nearly drunk next to her best
friend. She had been loud, while he had been his usual quiet and reserved self, simply enjoying a single bottle. They
were all having a good time, and they bumped into each other. Somehow, they both meshed.

“Are you being real?” He asked her with a smile.

“Of course I am!” She said with as much verbose personality as possible. She was merry and she could have cared less
about this man, especially with her best friend by her side. All the two women cared about was having fun. Hookups, dating,
and marriage could wait. They were too busy enjoying the stress free life of no school. Sure, work was a bummer, but those
incoherent deadlines were forgotten and in the past.

For Frederick, it was love at first site. Never before her, had he met a woman like her. Unfortunately, Jennifer had absolutely
no idea there was anything between them for the longest time. She was slow to notice these things, like the white powder
falling from the sky. As he got to know her more, she proved to be nothing like the drunk woman he met at the bar. Yes,
she could be ridiculous sometimes, and yes, there was a bombastic side that could behoove anyone. However, she was
generally a quiet person who preferred her own personal space just like he did.

Right now, hers was on the patio staring at the dark, hazy sky. The moon was shining brightly, and something about the
beauty made her tear up. The moon was always there, every night, save for new moons, and even then, she counted the
moon as still being there. It represented a new beginning, a new phase. Right now, the moon was full like a huge white
flower. There would be four more phases until a new moon and a new beginning. She was praying for one.

Frederick's personal space was inside their apartment. He was staring at his computer screen, plugging away variables for
his rising entrepreneur computer program. It would offer him financial relief and a fresh outlook for how his home life was
looking with all the incoherent deadlines at work. However, this evening happened. He was already over it and wanted her
gone, but Jennifer processed information differently, especially when she was like this.

Earlier, when Frederick asked with a stern loudness, “Are you being real?” She responded with a lack of personality. Her eyes
were downcast and lonely. She looked empty, and her voice was spoken with as much quietness as possible. He did not know
who she was anymore. He was unsure if she was even a person. She did not seem to care. The mesh between them had been
torn, and they were swimming without each other in the ocean, again. They were two fish, who had forgotten how to love each
other, and he was too slow to react, as usual.

“Of course, I am,” she responded with a frown.</sub>

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 - 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅

_{S E E B E L O W}

[c a n c e l e d]

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 - 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅

_💡

Microfiction&Poetry Contest #1 - Voting and Feedback

_{M E T A M O R P H O S I S}

The curve of the poem caught my eye and is lovely like the quaint and unique wording that has been chosen.


_{T H E B U T T E R F L Y}

The acrostic is adorable, and each line offers a promising read.


_{B U T T E R F L Y}

As an haiku, the opening word captured my attention immediately and followed with every bit of excitement for something cheery.


_{П О Л У Д Е Н Н О Е С О Л Н Ц Е}

Slavic folklore meets Japanese intense simplicity ought to have been met with a translation of "fluttering" as opposed to "glowing."

_{S U M M E R H A I K U}

A summer haiku referencing the cycle of growth and the redundant of seasonal reoccurrence is small and nice some sort of halo of life.


_{D R E A M S}

The metaphorical paralleling with plain speech implications for growth is quite lovely.


_{T H E S U M M E R O F 2 0}

The 16th century-inspired poem is quite in-depth and portrays the hardship of not just cheery life but darker side of nature in a twisted manner.


_{S E N S I T I V I T Y T O I N I T I A L C O N D I T I O N S}

A traditional long-suffering struggle of a promise that can be easily broken by modern day standards leaves me with the question of, "Is the glass half-empty or half-full?"

---

There is no vote because like @BrokenPromise, I have no proper knowledge of the medium. However, all the entries have their wonderful qualities, even the ones not mentioned in this post. Thank you so very much for the wonderful read.

𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒔 - 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒗𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕

C H I L D R Ǝ N O F T H E A P O C A L Y P S E


_{^{W I L L O W • ♀ • 1 1}}

𝓣ℎ𝑒 𝓕𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝒻 𝓐𝑙𝑦𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑎 & 𝓕𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡.

𝓘mprinted in my soul,

𝓘 have the portrait of a fair lady. . .

𝓘 won't insult my fate by weeping, empty tears shedding. . .

𝓑ut as it was, it was torture for Walter attempting to mind his own business as he sat there like a good trained dog next to his brother as a master. He understood the feelings that multiplied in front of Lady Alyssana, and even then, he felt a sudden flush like a paleness blushing a fever across his cheeks. Still, the young man fidgeted with one of his watches. The strap was soft with leather, and he thought of the calf that had been separated from his mother before slaughter. It brought his mind to an ease on the main topic at hand.

“They simply want us to quiet the media, is that correct?” He felt Finnegan's strong hand place itself upon his shoulder, and the jittery feelings calmed instantly. A sick he was being, and a sick man he always would be. He wished to be of more use to his brother, but his mind would not allow it in many different ways than the ones currently being provoked.

Finnegan removed his hand as his brother's body quieted. His scent was starved for some attention that would never happen. His mind knew better. He needed food, perhaps more than Lady Alyssana. He wondered now, if this was where he fit, caring for everyone who was too preoccupied with their own studies. He would take the compliment with his own selfish endeavors, “Something of the sort,” he took a bite of the shepherd potpie, letting a gap between Walter and him linger, “Unfortunately,” he squinted, tempting his memory with the words of the poem, “This murderer has become more and more attractive the more I get to know Lady Alsy--,” he stopped himself, again, letting usual course of his overly amusing flirts overlay evening, “He or she has drawn my attention. Why do they want us to quiet the murders? I have been wondering this when here, no one wants to quiet my own nor those of Madame Sophronia.”

His hand looked at the silver print on the fork's handle. There was an intricate design that was melted and stamped into it. He had inherited it from his father's side of the family, and just know he noticed there was a man who wore a bore head on it. His feet started at the thread and ended on the fiddle-shape. It meant nothing to him at this very moment, but he thought maybe it was some olde sprite akin to some trickster of sorts, “You do know, I am half wondering why they even asked for my assistance on the matter.” He allowed his mind to linger on his dinner as he thought about it.

There were far more important things to ponder than stupid murders, especially from the whiles of Madame Sophronia. She would never let him have his way with Julianna, not that she was anything compared to Lady Alyssana accept both seemed almost unattainable. No, that was a lie. Even the reader could tell us this. Lady Alyssana was the more sought after woman, but in horribly indistinct times, Finnegan would drop his guard even if momentary and on purpose.

“You are a very good problem-solver, my dear brother,” Walter chimed. He was still attracted to sipping his tea and had not touched much of his dinner, unlike Finnegan who seemed to have known exactly what he wanted from his meal, “As is Lady Alyssana.” He could not help but add. He tried to hold back such a random comment, but as usual, his honesty took hold of him. It was like a torch, and he could never put it out. Many times, this torch was too heavy for him to carry. Even now, with Lord Christopher about, he worried that he would have to excuse himself. He strained to keep himself with another sip of conversation, “You do not make, they knew you would bring in Lady Alyssana? What if the murderer is the one who has requested you?”

It was almost darling to watch his brother attempt to help with the case. After working with him in the laboratory, he understood this was not going to end well, but he allowed it, like the lavishly ridiculous designs on all his cockery. He took more to the artistry than he should have while Walter attempted to make his case known, “To be honest, I doubt someone would do such a thing. I would find them immediately. As Lord Finnegan Oaks. I am live as too much of a shining example to played with like this. In fact, I'd say I frighten a good neighboring psychopath if that were the case,” his eyes looked at Lady Alyssana. This was meant as a pass, but as all his attempts, he knew were fleeting, like a dead, gentle lantern swaying in front of her. She saw past his every attempt, and all the more, he loved her.