Stories, Writing

Glowy

“What do you want to do tonight?” Avery asked Jett.

“I don’t care. Anything but be home.”

“Did Tucian take Amara there? Is it going to be a little too romantic for your taste?” Avery teased.

“Yes, actually. Blegh.” Jett sat at the vanity and rummaged through the containers curiously. “She’ll love it. He’s full of emotions and love. All that stuff you girls like. The stuff Tucian is good at but I’ve never been interested in. He’s always been full of feelings and fluff.”

“Ha ha I bet she will love it. I’m sure she’ll tell me all about it later.”

“Lucky you. What’s all this stuff for?” Jett held up a glass container. “Why do girls need all this?”

“That,” Avery took the jar from him, “is a moisturizer. It keeps our skin soft and glowy.” She set it back in its place and sat on the vanity next to him.

“To impress us boys?”

“You wish!” Avery scoffed. “For ourselves. Dry skin hurts and breaks easily when you get hit. I don’t know why other girls have so many containers of products. Most of those have magical purposes. Healing ones, mostly: for cuts, burns from power blasts, sprains. You know, for training injuries. Some are for external use, others need to be downed. You’ll have to ask a normal girl why her vanity is cluttered.” She laughed.

“I should have known better than to assume you would be a normal girl.” Jett laughed.

Stories, Writing

Art Show

Amara walked into a bright room. Sunlight streamed in through a large window on one wall and a skylight window overhead. The walls were filled with sketches and paintings. There were a few easels set up with works on them as well. There were piles of old art in corners and strands of rope with art hanging from them. There were paint stains on the floor and jars of paint, water, and paintbrushes around a sink near the window. There were many landscapes and famous landmarks from places she had never been. There were women she didn’t recognize, each of them beautiful in their own way. But those were all older and faded.

“Who are they?” Amara asked without looking away from one particularly lovely face.

“That one happens to be my mother. I can’t seem to put it away.”

“She’s beautiful,” Amara remarked, then moved on to another. She knew Tucian didn’t like talking about his mom or dad. He didn’t like thinking about whatever happened to them. She hoped someday he would tell her. But she wouldn’t push it. He would tell her when he was ready.

“She would have liked you. The others are women I’ve known. Some romantically, some not.”

She was amazed at how beautiful it all was. She took her time looking at everything. She made her way around the edges of the room first, then looked at the ones hanging on the rope. Tucian watched her intently, trying to gauge what she might be thinking. He couldn’t tell so he stood by the door, watching and waiting. Each of his works were a piece of his heart. It was hard to let people see those pieces for their judgement. It was as though they were judging his soul. He hoped Amara would like what she saw in his work.

“Tucian, they’re…” Amara trailed off as she became distracted by each new piece of art.

“Yes?” He pressed.

“Spectacular…” she whispered. She came to one she recognized on the rope, a lake in a clearing. “Is this our lake?” She pointed and turned to look at Tucian.

“It is.” He stayed where he was, waiting for her to find his most recent ones.

She meandered her way to one of the easels. She gasped at the face on the canvas. It was her. The painting was filled with light. Her own green eyes gazed back at her. She looked amazing, flawless. She stared at the portrait. He had captured her slightly small eyes and mouth well and they fit perfectly on her beaming face.

Tucian walked up behind her. “Do you like it?” He whispered into her ear.

“I love it,” Amara whispered back. “I think you might have overdone it though.”

“Why?”

“It’s so radiant, so…” Amara tried to find the word to describe the painting. “Exquisite.” She stayed staring at her own face. It was so familiar and yet too beautiful to be herself.

Tucian slowly turned her around and lifted her face to his. “So are you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Stories, Writing

Reading Time

Tucian strode into the library. Amara sat in a large chair with her knees pulled up, reading intently, lost in a story, and biting her bottom lip. She sipped on some orange soda and set it on the side table. He thought she looked like a child looking at a picture book. Adorable. He made his way over to her.

“Hello, darling.” He knelt in front of her chair.

“Oh, hey.” Amara tilted her book toward herself to look at him. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. What are you reading?”

“Grimm’s Fairytales,” she answered. “Not the happiest of tales, but interesting.”

“But you can’t learn anything from that nonsense.” He gave her a curious look.

“Says you,” Amara teased. “I happen to learn a lot from them.”

Tucian laughed. “You do need to keep progressing in your combat skills though. It’s important.”

“Not to me. Not right now.” She smiled down at him. “Other things are occupying my attention.” She leaned down and kissed him.

Tucian pulled away. “It is important. To me.” He pushed her hair from her face and combed his fingers through the length of it, over her shoulder.

“You’re very persuasive, you know.” Amara looked into his serious eyes. “Fine. I promise we can do some training. For you.” She kissed him again.

“Good girl.” Tucian smiled.

“After this last tale!” She stole her book back and giggled.

Tucian shook his head. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“You’re lucky I love you so much. Giving up my reading time is serious business.”

“I am lucky.” He kissed her. “My Amara.” Tucian held her in his arms, cuddling her tightly in the chair as she read. He rested his head on hers with a happy grin until she was done.

Stories, Writing

Rain

He watched Amara in wonder as she walked out into the shower. She didn’t bow her head to the rain like most people. Instead, she lifted her face to the sky and let the water kiss her eyelids. She stood still for a moment then, with eyes closed, proceeded to remove all her training gear. Items dropped to the ground until she was down to her shirt, pants, and shoes. She basked in the refreshing rain splattering over her. Rain always made her happy. It restored her, made her whole. She totally forgot anyone was with her. Her hair became drenched and stuck to her. Her clothes began clinging to her body. She was absolutely captivating.

Stories, Writing

Book Intro

Tucian had been watching her for a month now, this woman in the supermarket. Never in his life had he seen someone so radiant. At first she had looked at him with skepticism. She would look him over carefully as though she were sizing him up, seeing if she could take him down. Her calculating eyes had drawn him in, intrigued him.

After two weeks she seemed to let her gazing guard down. The looks that followed were even better. He adored the way she would blush each time he caught her eye. And her smile ignited his whole world. He admired how she moved with strength and purpose. It seemed like she knew who she was and what she was doing. This beautiful woman never meandered in the store and he suspected she didn’t meander in any other aspects of life either.