The only thing she knows is true anymore is that the dragon needs to die.
This is the daily(ish) posting of my 2017 NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) fantasy novel. [YANS] is short for Yet Another New Story, so it’s new worlds and new civilization ahead! Since last year worked out well, this year’s attempt will also be a combination of MuseFic and proper rough draft. The story will be completed at the end of November… even if the story isn’t really complete. 😉
Read at your own risk/amusement: There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing.
Daily Wordcount: 1,655
Total Wordcount: 43,273 (includes Title, Chapter Headers, etc.)
Day 27 – THINGS. FOR REASONS.
The Writer flailed about madly making notes. She had a migraine and was a million words behind and needed to get ideas out of her head onto paper.
They were very messy ideas.
But it was NaNoWriMo, so they still counted.
The white dragon shows up in both futures. If the blue one is the actual dragon for the city by the sea then who is the white one? And why isn’t the red one in both visions?
The fire has destroyed more than she can mend with magic alone and she has to wait for the townsfolk to return to start rebuilding.
My town isn’t big enough for two dragons.
Are you kicking me out?
If there’s a happy ending here, she hasn’t found it yet, but it’s not an unhappy ending either and she can live with that.
The town is the never the same again. Not better, nor worse, but not the same.
She can’t live her life bound to the ghosts of the past, so she leaves and doesn’t look back.
There are gravestones down on the old floodplains and every year fresh flowers pile up, brought in from all the corners of the earth.
The pools are too far away to hear her, but the river is not.
The two dragons arrive to the still smoldering ruins.
I can’t change back, I’ve tried, but there’s too much of me.
That part takes a little practice.
There was a very very long pause as the Muse looked over the incoherent notes. For a moment she considered tossing all of them in the fire, but there was some small salvageable plot bunny fodder in the madness.
Meanwhile the Writer was covering her head with a blanket and avoiding the Evil Light of Evil and all things that required more than two neurons.
And lo, they called it day.