Scribblers' Haven discussion
Bits and Pieces
>
Rowenna's Meritorious Taradiddles, Fairytales, and Fireside Yarns
date
newest »
newest »
Haha, brilliant!! I love the name, Em. Can't wait to see your writings! :D
Yay! Thanks and thanks and thanks!!! I love this group thus far so I couldn't help but post some of mine :).Hm. I'll serialize my latest but I shall start with a fairy tale:
cιnderella
Once upon a time in a city near the Rhine River which was called Rhinegold lived an ash-girl. She boarded with her father and step-family for her mother had died when her little daughter, the ash -girl, was just a baby. Due to her maligning stepsisters, the ash-girl could hardly rest, milking the cows, stoking the fire, and often being burnt by the hot brazier.
But when she could get time, she often stole away in her mother's green dress to the family's garden, sit on a bench and watch the swallows and butterflies. Yet also more often than not sit by her mother's headstone and think of her.
Naturally keeping care of the fire took its toll and with her sooty face, watchful blue eyes still big and bright she came to be called Cinderella. Cinderella was a straight-up-and-down girl, slender and dedicated for she had to be; working for the two stepsister's Gretchen and Louise.
Once upon a time a while later the prince of Rhinegold, for the river glittered with gold by it, he held a ball in the palace that overlooked the Rhine. Louise and Gretchen were terribly excited making their sister to and from the dressmaker for accessories and pomades , buying bright-hair powder and sweeping ugly wigs. Tight orange gowns.
All while Cinderella toiled the step-sister's primped and pratted on. Sitting by the fireplace, she set aside mending and read by the firelight for it was winter and her patchwork dress cold. Eventually the day of the ball dawned, cold and bright, Cinderella stood at the window looking outside for a moment before she gathered her skirts and ran to tell her stepsisters it was time to prepare.
Louise and Gretchen piled into the carriage, the ash-girl murmuring good luck but her stepsister's had no word for Cinderella and rumbled off, their ruffs pointing out and fans frantically waving. So Cinderella retired to the warm house as snow began to fall outside gathered. In the green gown hurrying out to the garden and brushed the snow off her mother's tomb; sticky and wet falling off the stone under her soft glove. Sitting she folded her hands in her lap and watch the snow sift down, shouts and laughs from the palace migrating to her solitary house.
After that, well after that little Cinderella must have fallen asleep for the next thing she knew a snowflake fell on the bridge of her nose and she opened her eyes there was a woman standing there, shimmery and insubstantial in a dress of silver and eyes of a bright blue. Dark hair that was in a tall pompadour was glittering. A wand twinkled with a star gleaming on it.
She was Cinderella's fairy godmother, Albricha. Briskly she instructed her astonished charge to fetch her a pumpkin, she waved her wand and it transformed into a glossy carriage! A mouse became a driver and six crickets were sharp footmen. Finally Albricha waved her wand and a dress appeared, then suspended by swallows flounced and golden, ermine trimming the neckline and skirt.
It was Cinderella's.
"Go quick!" The fairy godmother said and the girl quickly climbed into the carriage; it started off. "But beware!" Albricha called. "At the stroke of midnight your clothes will become rags and your carriage a pumpkin. Farewell." Then the godmother disappeared in a puff of smoke and Cinderella's coach traveled along the roads, past quiet trees alongside the path, and to the palace whose's lights reflected on the Rhine like gold specks.
She danced all night long, laughter joyous and eyes shining, especially when she danced with the prince, Ducas.
Love at first sight.
Midnight struck and Cinderella danced until her dress transformed and the horror-struck girl raced from the ballroom and down the steps, one delicate glass slipper falling off on the steps in her haste. As she ran the prince lifted the slipper and wondered of the beautiful girl in rags.
The next morning Ducas went through the city Rhinegold beseeching young women to try the glass slipper on. All did, none succeeded. Until that is, he came to Cinderella's house and just preparing to leave after Louise and Gretchen, saw their stepsister in the corner, sewing.
She looked up, face hidden by the fire, and he asked her to try it on. The glass slipper fit perfectly and Prince Ducas saw his sweetheart in the light and asked for her hand. The ash-girl accepted and the prince and Cinderella were married that spring. After that, everyone, pauper or princess was invited to the yearly ball, the Dance of Candles, especially the ash-girls. Speaking of the ash-girl, that ash-girl and prince Ducas lived happily ever after.
The End.
Ooh, can't wait to see more taradiddles!!
Ooh! Thanks loads! I appreciate it heartily; in reply...Sleeping Beauty
Once upon a time in the outskirt of the north, the king, Everard and his queen Courtenay celebrated the birth of their first child, after so many years, a girl named Joscelina . Oh so many were there and we twelve fairies stood by the doors watching the gift-giving start.
The room held the cold flush of our country's spring, and many guests wore layers as the north still had us in its spell.
Everard's banquet hall was gaily upholstered with all the lords and ladies' surrounding little Joscelina's cradle, splendor least of all in our blues and whites and emeralds. Notwithstanding mine own French hood and peaked purple collar. I am the seventh of that number, Meredith.
Eventually the matronly queen called us forwards, god bless her, that portly woman, her voluminous clothes swinging, opened her arms to welcome us and our gifts. Ioveta with her peaked hood, burgundy and gold together, awarded the little princess with tact, Saphet, her blue flounces glittering, Beauty. The inquisitive-looking thing with the tureen-shaped hat and grape-colored cloak, wisdom. I, skill...
On went our gifting until so late the moon began to sink and the door banged open and a cold wind rushed in from the north.
The last fairy. Our witch Melisenda, had come.
Thunder clapped. "Where is my place, Everard?" our Melisenda hissed. Poor little Everard, dear he was, we murmured, yet was terrified half to death of witches.
Stalking forward the fairy parted before Melisenda or were dragged from her way by friends or Melisenda, with disdain. Every eye, emerald or pitch, amethyst or ruby, tracked her movement.
"You brought the north upon us Melisenda." Comnena the giver of command declared. "You have no place with us." Melisenda merely cackled and then stood before the babe's cradle, we trembled. Joscelina gurgled and reached up with her pudgy hand.
"The princess shall sting her finger on a spindle and die, as she is sixteen." her eyes flashed 'round the hall. "Let it be so!" she chuckled terribly, "Such is my gift, king." Rain drummed and thunder boomed, the witch disappearing in the chaos away. The banquet hall in its number burst into tears.
"But soft," a voice called and Fairisc, the thirteenth, impish and pale skinned, with wound hair high, stepped from the fray her skirt ballooning. "Not yet have I given my gift. On the princess's sixteenth birthday instead she shall sleep for a hundred years." Fairisc waved her wand and sparks fell. "Let it be so."
Years passed, some of our number to leave for home yet some still remaining. As we were immune to any spell we had no fear of Fairisc's spell and our Melisenda's hex, and the king and queen held us in high regard as protectors of the princess. Little Joscelina grew into a burbling, clumsy toddler, a adventurous, pretty dough-ball of a girl and a beautiful young woman.
Courtenay and Everard were at peace having long forgotten the witch's curse as my sister folk and I, having destroyed all the spindles in the land. I still was on my guard though, sitting on the bench by the gate or in the hedge maze. Weaving, hair hidden in my cap, for Melisenda would not relent.
Fifteen years went by and the princess was taller than ever, graceful, poised and intelligent, yet still held her benefactresses in regard, calling us "Mere" a word of which double meaning I felt especially.
One year passed after that and foreboding grew. Joscelina was as bright as ever, the belle of the ball or in the country dances twirling and laughing, eyes shining as much as her coppery gold hair.
She was a princess, in face and heart.
However as the clock neared noon, the hour of her birth, I looked up from my weaving to a open tower. The princess was ascending the turret stairs to a bare room, her terrier Flauvic at her side. Melisenda was in a chair spinning and looked up with a smile. "Dear little princess," she greeted warmly. "Such gifted fingers would live the spindle, so talented." she murmured and Joscelina approached, thanking the witch. But she as she put her hand on the spindle the bell tolled and a drop of blood welled on her fingertip, she fell flat, sleeping...
Across the castle a cock was silenced in its crow, a hound in its bay. Everard's quill slipped from his fingers, Courtenay's book left her hands. The castle was asleep. I was on my feet but alas, such earthly matters were not for sprites to trifle in though a tear ran down my cheek.
A hundred years went by, long after I first saw snow retreating from a bush unseasonable in March, and knew the witch has left to seek easier pastures to chill. I on the bench keeping vigil while my sisters came and went. One day, early in the April month I heard a voice from beyond the brambles, two village people, out just after the snow retracted. The voice of one asked what was after the gate? Behind the ivy I smiled. A sleeping beauty, his companion offered, one cursed a hundred years past.
I could see the young boy, who really was a young man, glance doubtfully up to the gloomy facade but walk to the gate and push it inwards, the metal creaking every inch. He saw me first, asking why a matron would be such a place, and, he added, why sewing clothes for a bride and groom?
I looked down to my stitchery and smiled A hundred years of sewing, I replied, had granted me both. Let he be the one to fulfill my tire in a wedding.
Bewildered, the prince(which he evidently was from his companion's address)bowed politely and took his leave of me, I heard his friend hastily walk away. In the castle I saw Raymond, as his friend said, entering the deserted castle entrance-hall, covered in dust. All was silent. Bounding up a flight of stairs his hand rested on the hilt of his sword and he burst into the turret. Seeing nothing but a still terrier and a sleeping beauty. Out in the garden I smiled.
Awestruck Raymond knelt and lifted our Joscelina's hand she was flesh and blood he realized incredulously, "Sleeping Beauty." he murmured and leaned down kissing the princess on the lips. She awoke. A hundred years had passed.
Taking his love to her feet, the terrier jumping around their ankles and the wall, Raymond asked Joscelina to marry him and she accepted. In a day's time, I and my sisters stood in a line watching the prince and princess walk up the aisle, with her parents and the castle cheering for the couple. His black hair was silk against cloth of gold. Her golden hair shining on white which was as bright as their eyes.
My sisters and I linked hands and smiled. Sleeping Beauty. The bride and groom lived happily ever after...
My other fairy tale :). It does have some pretty bad punctuation I know.
Wow amazing. I really lie the point of view, I don't think I have ever read a version of this story with that point of view. I really really liked it, and I look forward to reading more!
Dear Ruby,Thanks!!! Thanks so much for posting - that's very sweet!
Yeah, I'll have some other stuff on here before too long. The POV(point of view) is to the best of my knowledge it's second-person which is one character telling the tale to a reader...?
And here you go! Queen Corinna strolled through the oak shelving unable to stop herself and continue back to her chambers. It was not hard; the bitter winter days of Hytermaire made them frigid. Blankets and furs had been procured to her and Jeminal and her cousin held the rest of the palace was in similar conditions.
Mindful of the cold in the very library, Corinna drew her fur wrap around, and reached out a hand to a scroll, unwinding it in her hand. It was a palimpsest, someone centuries before had ink out written words and then they had been wiped and another piece resumed.
The queen of Tyreusa frowned. Putting the scroll back. Preceding to an odd doorway. It was intricately carved mahogany and as tall as Corinna. She knelt on her furs and set her hand on the doorknob, it was silver made in the shape of a stag. Corinna twisted and stepped to the side in wait.
Twin white orbs commanded her vision, and in the dark a massive figure arose onto its haunches. The dog was black as a raven and gigantic. Lazily it watched Corinna in the open doorway, arching its back and cracking its spine. Gathering itself, the mastiff let out a low growl, and sprung. Corinna's foot lashed out and connected with the door a moment prior to the beast's collision, she let out a stifled scream; frantically trying to return her breath, however icy that objective was.
On the balconey the door creaked open and shut with a click. Corinna instantly straightened from a half-crouch and wrapped her furs again.
She was not alone with the mastiff anymore.
"What do you call that monster? Cerberus?" she called to the empty silence.
There was a laugh. "Appropriate."
For a while neither the speaker or Corinna said anything, and she inspected every shadow.
"I don't call it anything," said her voice. It turned mischievous. "Evidently the owner was not pleased with Mable."
Corinna laughed, and shortly after a pause her voice did too. "Neither am I," she rejoined. If Corinna could see him she could be sure but she thought the voice raised an eyebrow.
"Small wonder."
Corinna was going to smile; she cleansed her face of expression becoming breathtakingly conscious that she spoke with a captor, perchance even with the king himself. Beside dwelling she stood a step forwards, raising her head the silver fur trailing behind her. "Who are you?" she said. "What do you want?"
Silence fell in the library.
"A scheming king?" she accused. Her anger rose at the silence. "Unscrupulous fox?"She imagined she heard quick exhalation, but all the voce did was move his boots back and retreat. There was another click.
Thoughts? That's one little scene I devised in The Queen of Tyreusa.
No...I am not delusional. That was a metaphor of sorts.
ANYWAYS. Yeah, the scribblings of Rowenna of the Hawkenswood, Marienna of Winged Bay and Isabeau(as well as the Mysterious E). Future and ongoing ideas include but are not limited to:
The Valkyries' Quest(trilogy).
I wrote the first just after I began, ergo it is rather shoddy writing. First installment is a short story - to be expanded - the others unclear but I've got the climactic battle planned out at least :D.
Robin Hood-like?
Insofar...I didn't realize how many plot holes I had until a friend of mine as a writing-club instructor pointed them out. Eeek. I will continue that in due time with hope.
The Queen of Tyreusa:
Three kingdoms are chief on the center-stage: Tyreusa, the abode of Corinna a seventeen-year-old scarcely old enough to attend balls, let alone be a monarch. Second is Hytermaire(oh crap, I just realized both of these have the second letter of "y"), the land of the renegade Tazgan, bandits, and ruled by an enigmatic king.
Third is something which is going to be the antagonist but I've no idea what it's going to be called.
Various short stories, anecdotes, tales, etc.
Cheers,
E. C.