Month: March 2018

Writing Prompt 3/31

On By B. HansonIn Uncategorized, Writing PromptsLeave a comment

writing prompt

It was a rainy day when they came and took over. Nothing we could have done could have prepared us for this, because we… well SOME of us were so blind. The government, they made us hate each other. While we fought and argued, they planned. Some of us acted like petulant children and fought against equality for some ignorant reason.

But that doesn’t matter now.

Nothing matters anymore. Like a tsunami, it hit the entire country. But we were the fools. People were expecting them to come with guns, but they didn’t. They came with words and forced us to question everything, even our very existence. Who is our enemy? It could be the person with me, right next to me in bed. Anything to divert attention to what was about to happen.

Today, things are different. Those of us who did not fight back were housed in special compounds. They are guarded day and night by the ones who came from space. Since the government sold us to protect themselves, the other beings gave them power to run free and torture those who did fight back.

But in reality, those other beings own even the government.

Their next step was to enslave the entire world. They started with the country that was the most ignorant to the outside world. The one that no one would help because they really didn’t like us. Treaties that they had signed meant nothing if the enemy came from another galaxy.

Honestly, I can’t believe that no one thought of this before me.

Befriend them, I offered. The young ones, the young adults. They were more impressionable than the adults. I believed that, perhaps, they would help us in some why. What I didn’t plan on was a mutual feeling of attraction to one.

It was one who tended to our bunk. As far as I know, they have no sex or gender that humans could ever understand, but they looked humanoid. This one in particular, had a more male figure and his English name was Luther. He told us that we could not comprehend his people’s voice or language, but they used special devices to be able to talk to us.

Unlike many of the others, Luther was kind. We were given three meals a day, and sometimes, he even sneaked us some treats. A few times, he shared his own people’s delicacies.

Somehow, I could tell that he was saddened at how his people treated us. When everyone had fallen asleep for the night, I stayed up and watched him. Even though we were born in completely different universes, our emotions looked the same. He walked down the walkway separating our beds and tears, real tears, were streaming down his face. As he walked past me, he noticed I was awake and quickly wiped his eyes.

“What are you doing awake?” he said sternly. “You are supposed to be sleeping.”

My heart was racing. Would he turn on me for disobeying rules? “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help to notice that you were sad. Is everything alright?”

“Why would a servant care about their master?” he asked, somewhat intrigued.

“Because,” I said. “Everyone deserves to be happy… no matter where they come from or what position they’re in.”

From then on, Luther would ask me to stay up at night to talk. We grew closer. He asked me questions about my life before and asked what I would do if I were free. I asked him what his planet was like and why his people came here. Over time, he started asking me questions about revolting.

“What?” I repeated. “A revolt? Your people would destroy us.”

“Not if you have my help?”

I was shocked. He seemed so sure of himself. Was this a trap? All this time, was he tricking me? Had I disclosed secret information about humans that his people did not know?

“I just want to be a part of life on Earth,” he seemed to read my mind. “I don’t want to rule it. I want to be a part of life, your life.”

“What are you asking me?” I leaned forward.

“Human Megan,” he said. “I love you. I want you and your people to be free. Let’s do this.”

And just then, Luther held out his hand and a flower formed in it. It was no flower that I have ever seen on Earth. At first, I thought he was giving it to me as a symbol of his affection, but he shook his head.

“This flower is the last of its kind,” he explained. “It is the only thing that can end this enslavement. Our single weakness as a people lies in this flower.”

***

“And that,” I said to my grandchildren. Luther was standing at the door, smiling at their children’s children. It had been almost 60 years since that fateful day. “That was how your grandfather and I got our freedom.”

Writing Prompt (1)

Quick Update on Book 2

On By B. HansonIn Other Writings, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Thank EVERYONE who Follows my Blog! I am already working hard on Book 2 of my novel, named Preservation. I am already in Chapter 5 of the First Draft.

And yes, I am having to tell myself repeatedly that it’s going to be crap, because I desire perfection. But, writing is a process.

My apologies for not updating as often as I would like. I have a 3 month old daughter, I’m working on Book 2, and there have been many holidays, Saturdays worked, etc. etc.

Stay tuned for a Writing Prompt this week! I’ll do my best to get it out before Saturday! As always, thank you for your support!

Writing Prompt 3/18

On By B. HansonIn Uncategorized, Writing Prompts1 Comment

Writing prompt 12

The anxiety is intense when I don’t lock my door 5 times.

Unlock, lock… one. Unlock, lock… two. Unlock, lock… three. Unlock, lock… four. Unlock, lock… five.

What happens if there’s a burglar. Did I really lock my door? Did I stop at lock or unlock? Better check again because my hearts racing. Something didn’t feel right the last time I did it. 5 more times.

Unlock, lock… one. Unlock, lock… two. Unlock, lock… three. Unlock, lock… four. Unlock, lock… five.

Okay… now I can brush my teeth. Count the stairs to my bathroom. Don’t miss a stair or I’ll have to go back down and start over. Focus. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… dammit! There are ten stairs in my house. Go back down the stairs. Last night, I didn’t get to bed until 12am because of this. I wish I wasn’t like this. I try to stop counting, but I can’t. Something feels wrong. SHIT! I wasn’t paying attention. Third time up the stairs.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Okay… at least it was only three times up and down the stairs this time. Last night, it was – one, two, three, four, five, six – six, times. Brushing my teeth. This one takes a while because I have to count to 100. I want to be clean, and 100 is a great round number. At least I have control over how many times I can brush my teeth. My mom used to laugh at me and make me stop at fifty three, most days. FIFTY THREE!? That’s not a round number, not a good number… I’m getting anxious just thinking about it. Now that I’m on my own… 100 times, yes, a good number.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen… that number always makes me shudder. It’s unlucky, you know. Even for me… and I like numbers. Numbers are my life. Good thing I stopped brushing… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… That’s a good number. No one gives it the respect it deserves. Continuing… thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty… Halfway there.

I wish I wouldn’t have bought this new toothpaste. It foams up too much. I wonder if I spit some of it into the sink, would I feel like I have to start over? Better not risk it. I’m already at fifty. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. My teeth look good… But sometimes my gums bleed if I take too long to count. Why does my mind keep wandering. I need to focus. I was on seventy, right? Seventy-five? That doesn’t seem right… Oh yeah! Sixty… Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three.

*ring, ring* Damn phone. I can’t let it ring past three times. Ugh! I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth. I don’t have time to answer the phone. But if it rings more than three times, I have to turn it off and on nine times. And if I break my phone… I don’t even want to think about it. It’s just an 800 number, so I’m going to ignore it.

Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six. Again? My mind is trying to focus on the freaking phone again. What time is it? I really hate that I go to bed at 10pm but don’t actually get to lay down until after midnight. I wish I wasn’t like this. Why do I have to be like this? Now, because that stupid number just called to try to sell me a credit card or some shit, I have to turn that off and on nine times. Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy. At least I’m almost done brushing my teeth.

Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five. This foam toothbrush really is starting to annoy me. I’m choking on this crap. Why doesn’t it say ‘foaming’ on the label. I wouldn’t have bought this… How does ANYONE buy this crap. Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine… ninety. Almost there. And I didn’t even screw up once. Gotta be proud of that. Doesn’t happen often. Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. Spit this crap out of my mouth. Pretty sure I’m going to buy another tube of toothpaste. This is not conducive to my life.

Well… before I get to my nightly routine of turning off and on the lights, I have to turn my phone off and on… nine times. What is wrong with me? Why does counting every, single, freaking thing make me feel good? If I don’t count, I feel claustrophobic and it feels like I’m having a heart attack. This is why I don’t have any friends… This is why I don’t like to go out of the house.

*ding, ding-a-ring* One time. Two. Three. Four. Five… oh shit, it’s not turning back on. Oh, wait, there it goes. Six, seven, eight… Crap! Not again! What if I take out the battery? I may have to start this whole thing over again. Nine? Does it feel right? I mean, I took the battery out. That’s basically like starting over. Okay, I’ll start over because I’m starting to freak out again. What time is it? 11:34PM. I feel like I’m going to be late again to work tomorrow… I’m going to sleep through my alarm and have to brush my teeth like this again, shower, lock and unlock…

No. SHUT UP BRAIN! Turn off and on my phone again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Okay… check… one less thing on the list. At least I don’t feel compelled to put my pajamas on a certain amount of times. They’re so soft. I really made a good buy with these. Ugh… I’m so tired. But I’m not done yet.

Two more things to count tonight. Haha, that’s IF I do it correctly. Lights, on and off six times. One, two, three, four, five… I wonder if my lights will burn out quicker because I do this? Crap… gotta start over. I just want to sleep. I’m so friggin tired. Just do it quick… Onetwothreefourfivesix. Okay GOD, let’s go lay down. Now I have to turn on one side to the other fifteen times. Why fifteen, you ask? Who the hell knows… it’s a decent number. Divide by 3, you get five… Divide by five, you get three. Plus, I like the shape of it. The one stands firm at attention and the five is relaxed. It’s almost like Yin and Yang to me. Wake up! Don’t go to sleep yet because you’ll have to do this whole thing again at like 2AM.

Roll, left-side, one… two, right-side… three… stupid sheets tangling my legs. Four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen… WHY!? WHY AM I NOT COMFORTABLE. I don’t want to roll again. I just want to sleep dammit! Close my eyes… okay, I think I can fall asleep like this. This is nice. I’m finally done, and it’s only 12:15AM. Oh, fifteen. What a good number…

Wait… What was that noise? Is someone in the house? Did I forget to lock the back door? Oh shit…

I hope you enjoyed this one! I’m working on my First Draft of Book 2 in my trilogy, so I’m going to be posting once a week with new prompts, tips, etc. Don’t forget to “Follow” my blog to be the FIRST to know when Purpose is going to be released!

Writing Prompt.png

Self Publishing

On By B. HansonIn Let's Write a Novel, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Self Publishing

So, you’ve finally made it! You now have a nicely-polished novel. And, boy, are you proud! AND YOU SHOULD BE! Not many people make it to the finish line and writing a 70K-100k+ book is very arduous.

Now what? Well you could either go the Traditional Publishing route or you could Self Publish. I’m going to make a case for Self Publishing because that is the choice I made for The Wanderer Trilogy. I want to cover the reasons I’m Self Publishing and help you make the best choice for your literary work of art!

Benefits of Self Publishing – (In my opinion)

There are a number of reasons I want to Self Publish. The good news is that it’s super easy and more widely accepted than it used to be. In the time of technology, the newer generations tend to read the News, Social Media, and (yes) even Novels on e-format. However, there are some of us Millennials (like myself) that are Purists when it comes to books. I always prefer to hold the copy in my hands. And now, with Amazon CreateSpace, you can sell hard copies of your book through Amazon.

To me, Self-Publishing allows a whole additional layer of creativity. Publishing companies have certain ‘formulas’ that they desire. Some will want you to change your book, and the constant battle to just have ONE company say “yes – we want your book” is way too stressful. Not to mention, you have to adhere to different manuscript formats for each company. It’s pointless, it’s outdated (in my opinion), and adds to the stress already compounded from putting your book out there.

Making sure you have the best book that you can is part of the reason you want to use Beta Readers, contracted Editors, and Freelance Cover Designers. Without breaking your bank, you want to have the “Best of the Best” or close to it. Because you don’t have an entire company providing these services, you have to pay for them yourself. However, you won’t be forced to use a specific editor, cover designer, etc.

If you decide to traditionally publish your novel, the amount of money you will make per book will decrease. I’m not sure the exact percentage, but with Self Publishing, you can make roughly $2.00 per book compared to less than $1.00 with Traditional Publishing. Once you gather a following, you can up the price of your books and make a few more bucks! The way I think about it… if I have $20K in Student Debt (*sad face*) and ~15,000 people purchase my book in either eBook or hard copy, minus taxes, I would be able to pay off my debt! That’s really not that many people 🙂

On the flip side, traditionally publishing a novel leaves the company to do your marketing for you. They take care of getting your book into stores. Sure, you make less per book, but you don’t have to market your book alone. If you choose to Self-Publish, you also have to self-market. This means going to bookstores, libraries, boutiques, and random people to sell your book. You’ll want to practice your pitch and be open to rejection. However, you can negotiate with the store owner to benefit both parties. It’s hard work, but it could work out well for you!

I know… on the surface Self-Publishing seems like hard work. But, you are putting in the work to market your novel on your Blog (like this one) and creating fans from the get-go. You’ve already put in the work for your book, what’s a little more elbow grease? If you are willing, you exclusively reap the benefits.

 

Where to Self Publish

I have already mentioned Amazon for the #1 most important place to publish your book. With any of these websites, you have to format your book a specific way. Using Scriviner, you can easily convert your book into popular formats accepted with the Big websites.

  1. Amazon (CreateSpace) – CreateSpace also takes care of the hard copy of your book.
  2. Smashwords – this website is exclusive to eBook format for independent authors. I also believe this publishes your book to smaller eBook websites to get the best coverage without having to know every url.
  3. Kobo – similar to Smash words.
  4. iTunes – this is to get your book on iBooks. If you end up recording an audiobook, I would also publish that here.
  5. Barnes & Noble – this uses the same format as Kindle from Amazon.

 

I really hope this helps! If you have the extra $$$, I would use a Book Printing website (like BookBaby) and print out a few copies of your book. Then, go around to your local libraries, bookstores, etc. and drop off/sell a few of your copies! Any outlet you can think of to sell your book is KEY! 🙂

 

BEST OF LUCK!

Linking 2 Writing Prompts! How Creative of Me :)

On By B. HansonIn Uncategorized, Writing PromptsLeave a comment

Writing Prompt.png

I’m putting my writing prompt at the top this time because I’m going to try and connect the two. Perhaps you can too! 🙂

My writing prompt.png

I found this abandoned castle while on holiday last year. I knew, as soon as I walked in, that this would make for a great tale. What I did not realize was that the ghosts that walk these halls will instruct me to keep it secret. “You may only tell your children, and their children,” they say. “Only after two hundred years, can our story be made known. Otherwise, this curse will forever be upon us.”

It was a beautiful autumn night when I was whisked away from my friends. We had decided to travel Europe to experience the many cultures in food and drink. Admittedly, I have always been one to get lost in my own thoughts and end up in a different part of town. So, this wasn’t the first time I had been separated from them. And to be honest, I don’t really remember what I had been thinking about before I stood face-to-face with this forgotten relic, miles away from any town. Perhaps it was the ghosts who called to me, placing me in a trance. Deep down, I feel like I was supposed to find this place. All of my questions would soon be answered.

As I stood at the precipice of the world of the living and deceased, something called to me. A voice. It was soft, melodic, and was carried by the wind. My feet were bare somehow and I now wore an old servant’s dress. I was called to the cemetery next to the castle, and I let my feet carry me over the soft moss that had overgrown this timeless cobblestone. Caressing my fingertips over the towering brick walls, I was greeted by wrought iron fencing and a gate that had rusted and fallen years before.

“Come in,” the voice said. “This is where my story begins. I have been waiting to tell you for a long time…”

I was careful not to step on any jutting metal but strayed from the path. Dozens of stone and marble graves scattered the grounds. One, however, drew me in like an insect to a flame. The extravagant sculpture of a crying angel shadowed over a plaque with what looked like silver lettering. As I approached it, the clouds opened up and gave way to a beam of moonlight. It shined upon the epitaph and I was able to read these solemn words.

Loved by many, but her heart belonged to one long since gone.

Perhaps she will find him in the afterlife.

Emmaline Hanover

“I couldn’t love the man my father had chosen for me.” It was then that I got my first glimpse of the spirit of Emma. She placed her ghostly hand on my shoulder and wept. “And then… the curse.”

“What curse?” I asked. All of a sudden, I felt a tug towards the front doors of the castle. As a neared the entrance of the cemetery I was jolted to another, less intricate headstone. An eerie green glow touched this headstone and a feeling of immense sadness washed over me.

Always chasing after what he could not have.

David Wispen

This time, another voice spoke to me. The figure of a man appeared beside me and beckoned me towards the castle. When I passed him, his handsome face flashed to a horrible disfigured one. My heart skipped a few beats. It looked like he had been badly tortured or disfigured in an unspeakable accident. I hoped to find out more in this place.

Surprisingly, the old oak doors were still intact. One thing I did remember was that they were shut tightly when I first arrived. Now, as I left the cemetery, they were wide open. The spirit of Emma flashed in the dark doorway and I stepped inside.

What a sight to behold. Crumbling stairs wound upwards to rooms where no one had set foot in a century. Remnants of old tapestries and rugs bearing stains and tears wrapped around wooden furniture that had become so rotten, they were nearly unrecognizable.

“You don’t have much time,” Emma’s voice called in my ear. “Your friends will be looking for you soon. Only a few hours until daybreak and my story will be lost.”

Honestly, I don’t know why I wanted to hear this ancient tale of tragedy. Something in me felt as though I knew this Emmaline Hanover. But there was just no way that could be true, she had died over five hundred years ago. Still, I let her spirit lead me further into the castle.

Again, I found myself in a room without recollection of how I got there. It was the dining room, no doubt. High vaulted ceilings boasted old stained-glass windows that were mostly intact. Some of the moonlight was obscured by creeping vines, but I was still able to see clearly enough. Immediately, I felt a shift in my bones and I was jolted back to when this abandoned place was bursting with life.

“I will NOT have my daughter marry a servant,” a booming voice said. A middle-aged man with a large belly appeared in front of me. He was jabbing his finger violently at a young, red-haired girl. 

“But father,” the girl cried. It was Emma. “I do not love Gregory. I will not -.”

“You WILL do as I say,” Emma’s father grabbed her by the frail arm. “You are my daughter. MY property and you will marry whoever I say.”

Suddenly I felt the overwhelming need to run. The feeling in my stomach told me to turn here and open this door. Before I realized what was going on, I was outside again. But this time, I had traveled to the garden. There was a soft stream that trickled around a sitting area with a pavilion. I walked closer and saw Emma’s ghost, with her head in her hands. A man walked through me and I instantly recognized him as David, the man who was buried near the entrance of the cemetery.

“Emma, my love.” I felt myself gasp as he spoke. Again, an unusual sense of familiarity washed over me. “You must marry Gregory. It is for the best.”

“But I do not love him,” she wrapped her arms around David’s shoulders. “I love only you. There must be a way we can be together… I know! We leave this place and never return.”

David placed his hand on Emma’s cheek. “I wish it were that simple my dear. But we would have nothing.” 

“We would have each other,” she corrected. “That is all I ever wanted.”

“I love you Emma,” David laid his forehead against hers.  “More than life itself. I promise that I WILL find a way for us to be together. I could never see you so unhappy. For now, just pretend to be interested in Gregory. We will wed in a week.”

Emma leapt into David’s arms and they kissed. What they did not see was a woman with dark black hair hiding behind a tree, watching. But I noticed, and I had a sick feeling as to what would happen next.

The spirit guide lead me to the cellar. David and this mysterious woman seemed to be waiting for me to begin their conversation. Emma was nowhere to be found, only the young woman and the servant.

“I would love to help you,” she said. I didn’t believe her for a second, but David did.

“You can make me a prince?” he said. “Place a spell on me so Emma’s father will believe i’m royalty? Then we can be wed! This is amazing. Thank you!”

David took his leave, but the woman remained. “I love you David. And if you cannot be mine, then you will belong to no woman.”

That night, in the same cellar, there was a horrible accident. David was caught in a fire and could not escape. He screamed for help, but no one came to his aid. The woman who had promised to cast a spell on him had  set the fire. I could almost feel David’s last words as this fiery reverie filled my vision, “Emma. I will always love you.”

“This happened a week after he promised me we would be wed.” The voice whispered and I was back in the garden.

The pavilion was overflowing with people from all around. Every one of them was wearing regal attire and smiling at the two joining hands in the middle. It was Emma and someone I did not recognize, but assumed it was this “Gregory” that her father had spoken of.

“Tears of joy my little girl!” Emma’s father boasted. “I knew you would fall for this wonderful man… now that the poor servant you were infatuated with has now been laid to rest.”

Emma’s ghost appeared next to me again. I finally got a good look at her face and noticed that it was becoming more decayed by the minute. “But they weren’t tears of joy. I had lost my only love, but I had no where else to go. I had nothing. So I had to pretend to love Gregory. But I never did.”

At that moment, I was alone. I could tarry on this ancient place in peace for a while. Perhaps the next part of the story I had to find for myself. I circled the garden. It was so serene that I thought I was hearing the faint sound of piano music. Beautiful chords added to the scene of rose thickets and beautiful Forget-me-Not’s.

“Those were always my favorite flower,” Emma’s voice whispered. “I did not realize that it would remind me so much of David.”

I ventured off of the main floor into the upper stories of the castle. Many of the rooms did not feel important as I walked through them. Still, the feeling of familiarity lingered. I knew this place, somehow, and I felt like I could spend an eternity here. Finally, I reached the bedroom corridor. Most of the doors were shut tight, but not locked. Oddly, it felt like someone was holding their weight against the other sides, almost to keep me on my task.

There was one room I was able to enter. A large, pillared bed sat off to one corner and two desks and a boudoir on the other. In between was a large door that opened to a balcony overlooking the rolling hills of Britain. I knew the story was almost complete because twilight had gone and the first rays of the new day were forcing their way through the horizon.

“I am so sorry about your beloved David, dear sister.” It was the witch. The one who killed David. Wait… Sister?

“Half sister,” Emma corrected. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her eyes were puffy with tears. “But thank you Vivian.”

I wanted to scream at Emma, explain everything, but I knew that it was no use. These are just the imprints of life before. This scene had already happened. Instead, I simply cried. I was overwhelmed by sadness that matched Emma’s. I desperately wanted to hug her and never let go. This Vivian ruined her life, but the poor girl had no idea.

“You know,” Vivian smiled and reached in her pouch. “David did want me to share something with you. He came to me the night before he died and gave me this.”

It was a small note. I rushed over to Emma’s side and read it with her.

Emma,

I do not know why we continue to play this game. We were only children, and the feelings were just that… childish. You had to know that there was no way we could ever be together. While I know that I tugged at your heartstrings through adulthood, I wish I could say the same of you. I do not love you… I was only hoping to marry you to get out of this life of servitude. I am sorry.

David

No. This can’t be right. David LOVED Emma. The ghost quelled my confusion.

“I should have known my half sister would do this,” Emma said. Her face was rotting away at the bone now. “David loved me and I knew Vivian’s handwriting. She had always been jealous, but I was in mourning. I was forced to lie to a man that I loved him. For five years I did this… until…”

Another shift. It was a year later. Emma was still wearing a black gown, as if still morning for her lost love. She stood on the balcony as a cold air softly touched her hair and dress. Slowly and carefully, she stepped up to the ledge and held out her arms. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she turned to face the door, careful not to slip. A small child, HER child rushed into the room. It was her son.

“Mommy? What are you doing?” the little boy inquired.

“I cannot do this anymore.” Emma was whispering to herself. Her son could not hear her. “I cannot keep living this lie. I am undone.”

She took a step back and plummeted to the ground below. Her son ran over to the ledge to try and save his mother, but to no avail. There was no way she could survive the fall. I was at a loss for words.

“I did not survive,” Emma’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. “But I saw David right before I hit the ground. He told me that he loved me.”

“Why tell me this?” I finally had the courage to speak. I felt like, this time, she was listening to me. “Why me?”

“Because, dear friend,” Emma stepped back into the beam of sunlight as it burst through the sky. “You are me. Rather… you WERE me. And now that you know this, I can finally rest. Vivian did not want anyone to hear this tale, but I could only speak to someone who carried my soul in the future. Because you listened, I can now free David from the clutches of her curse and be with him for eternity. Thank you…”

And just like that, she was gone. I have never felt the same since. In fact, I ended up winning quite a bit of money and purchasing the old castle, restoring it to it’s former glory. Just for Emma, for myself… I kept everything true to it’s nature. I even wander into the cemetery from time to time and reminisce on who I once was…

 

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! 🙂 Don’t forget to “Follow” for more Prompts! 🙂