Wednesday Snippet - You had to be wild...

So it has been a particularly good few days for writing! I think yesterday was the first day in about a week I haven't written at least 1k a day, and I've even squeezed out a few 2k sessions. Given that a couple of weeks ago I could barely raise my arms above my head for pain, I feel pretty good about that.

Thus, I think it's a good time, for no reason, to visit with Tristesse. Enjoy!

Snip!

She didn’t know how many days passed before her father came. At the best of times, she was indifferent to his presence. This was certainly not the best of times. He stood at the door, fingers laced around the metal bars and stared in at her. In the darkness it was hard to gauge his mood. He was not one given to expressing his emotions and Tristesse was not well-placed to judge in any case. But when he spoke, his voice dripped with venomous disdain.

“You had to run, didn’t you? You had to be wild. After all these years – decades – of patience, you had to be impetuous. You could have destroyed everything.”

Tristesse scraped her nail down the wall, tracing a shallow gouge she’d made earlier, and said nothing.

“And for what?” he continued. He had never needed her to answer to carry on a conversation. In fact, he probably preferred her silence, which made her want to scream at him. “A brief sojourn in the mortal realm? You are not a child, Maalik! We stand on the threshold of true power, of your birthright, and you would spurn it all. Where is your sense of duty? And if you have no sense of duty, where is your ambition?”

Her throat was raw from singing so she hissed at him instead, tugging at her tangled hair.

“You will recover,” he said, letting go of the bars. “And you marry him. Sonneillon still needs us. And if you do not recover, he will marry you anyway. I gave my permission. If he must keep you locked up here for all eternity, it will matter not as long as the ceremony is held and an heir produced. You don’t need to be sane for the second, and we can make you sane for the first. Your mother could tell you that.”

He paused now, and Tristesse chuckled, low and rough. She hadn’t thought of her mother in decades. There was little comfort in the thought of her now.

“But for my own pride, I have requested he give you time,” her father said. “I will not see our family further disgraced and marginalised by your behaviour. So you will recover, daughter, and spare me the shame of dragging you to the Cathedral in chains.”