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Gotcha. Wow. It’s so sad writing about villains…especially their background. Does…*gulp* Hans have any redemption later on? *hopeful eyes*
I’m afraid not 😔
What @ellette-giselle said about him having several chances and accepting none of them is correct
Right. Ellette told me.
"He who never quotes will never be quoted." ~Charles Spurgeon
Oof sorry I forgot about this!
Hope everyone had a very merry Christmas😌
The young lady padded softly into the room, slippers not making a sound as she clutched a tattered rose to her breast and a silent tear ran down her face. Crossing the room, she sat down on a stiff sofa and gently caressed the flower’s soft petals–velvety pinks and whites, beautiful even in their disarray.
Some said that the rose symbolizes love; indeed, an old legend that ran throughout the kingdom spoke of forgotten princesses whose spirits lived in roses. Having died young and never found their true love themselves, they help others find theirs.
@freedomwriter 💨⚪ @esther-c 💨⚪
#HugRikerSquad
Oh that is sad!!
I’m intrigued!
@freed_and_redeemed I think you got hit by one snowball. (up above)Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Thank you!! Yes it is😥 I randomly came up with it yesterday haha, I’m planning on writing a short story about it.
And thank you for tagging Freedom, I still use her old tag sometimes😅
@freed_and_redeemed Sorry girl!#HugRikerSquad
tag me if you ever post the whole things!
No prob. I’ve noticed a few of y’all still do. 😅
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Oh ofc! And same to you! Tag me whenever you post any of your work! I’d love to read it!
Yeaah 😅 Old habits die hard haha
#HugRikerSquad
Really? Aw that makes me so happy!
I guess I’ll have to tag you next time I get hit with a snowball! lol.
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Yes girlie! I’ve loved reading what you’ve written for the snowballs🤭 And I loveed your blurb for The Crimson Rose!! It sounds so good!
Oh yes pleasee
#HugRikerSquad
REALLY!
I had no idea! (I’m tearing up now. haha)
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Aww girl!! Yes!! I loved itt! Definitely tag me if you write anything else for it :))
Aw nooo don’t cry 🥺
#HugRikerSquad
Thank you so much!
*laughs through tears* it’s a good kind of crying.
Sorry. I’ve been having a rough time, and I think God sent you to say that this morning. 😌
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Of course!
Oh don’t apologize girl! I completely understand that. Aww yes!! 🥹 God truly does know what we need. You’ve helped me too😌 Thank you for being so sweet!
I’ll be praying for you and if you ever need to talk I’m here! 🤍
#HugRikerSquad
Thank you so, so much! You’re so sweet!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
I don’t know how many snowballs I have been hit with, so I’m just gonna post a scene worth 21 snowballs @ellette-giselle This is a Baron scene
Cold. Freezing cold.
Baron’s teeth chattered as he hugged himself, pulling his thin leather jacket closer around his body. His breath came out as wisps of steam in the darkness of the cramped space between two buildings that he had slipped into. The stars above shed their light, illuminating him with soft silver that glinted off of his white hair.
He was numb all over, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t warm himself. He had never had to worry about the harsh winter before. He had always been cared for, always looked after, but now…now he was on his own. Baron curled into a ball, hiding his head beneath his knees. Here he silently lamented, not for the choices he had made, for he deemed he had made the right ones, but for the lack of warmth. But what could he do? Others could beg in the streets for a warm jacket or blanket. He would be spotted. Others huddled down together or found a small place to rest by an industrial vent. Baron couldn’t do that. He was kicked away from the place he had been, threatened to be arrested the next time, and he didn’t want to be responsible for the death of others. Now, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Baron coughed, before silently barrading himself for doing so.
“Are you alright, lad?”
Baron jerked up, a breeze welling around him as he prepared to strike like a snake at moment’s notice. He stared at the old man who was peering into his little dark place, concern written upon his wrinkles, not answering.
“You cold, laddy? I can take ya home an’ ask me wife to warm some soup for ya. Maybe get ya a better jacket.”
“N-no, th-thank you,” Baron managed to stutter through his chattering teeth. The Bloodsilver Mafia was cruel enough to lure him in with such a kind offer, before assassinating Baron some place. Baron couldn’t take chances. He had to find the life he was looking for.
“Are ya sure, laddy? They say it goin’ to snow tonight, ya’ll prob’ly need more than a thin jacket to survive.”
“I-I’m good, Th-thank you,” Baron coughed out.
The man shook his head as he unwrapped the light blue infinity scarf from around his neck and pulled the darker blue gloves from his old fingers. “At very least, take these.” He handed the items to Baron, who accepted them gratefully. The warmth of the scarf falling onto his neck felt so good, but Baron’s fingers were too numb for him to pull on the gloves. He tried and tried in vain, as the old man watched on, his hands in his pockets. After Baron’s third try, the man spoke again.
“I don’t care what ya say, Laddy. I’ll be taken ya home with me tonight. Stay with me lonely Heather and I, then ya may leave whenever ya wish in the mornin’.”
Baron looked up, staring into the old man’s deep eyes before nodding. Baron stood, wobbly at first for he couldn’t feel his legs, coming out to walk with the man. Before they began walking, the man grabbed Baron’s cold hands with his warm ones, helping Baron put on the gloves. “Me name be Shire, by the way. What be yours?”
“B-Brutus.”
“Well, come now, Brutus. Heather will be happy to meet ya.”
The walk to Shire’s home was short, but half the way the old man had to help Baron, for his legs refused to obey his commands. Snowflakes began to lightly fall as they neared the tiny house the man called home. When they got to the house, Shire left him to collapse into a large armchair.
Baron closed his eyes. Warmth. Warmth sweeping over his body. It felt so good to his cold body.
He faintly heard Shire telling his wife about Baron in the kitchen. So far, this didn’t seem like a trap.
Baron opened his eyes again, surveying the room. The entire place was furnished with warm colors. Even the walls were a cozy pale orange. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, which was adorned with pictures of two young children, and a hand-carved goose ornament. The rug was decorated in a style most commonly seen in antique stores. The entire place felt cozy and old-fashioned, down to the smell in the air.
Heather soon came hurrying into the room with a blanket and hot tea. Her grey hairs were swept up into a loose bun, and her deep maroon skirts swished about her ankles. She wore an old, frayed apron over her shirt and skirt, covered with many a grease stain.
“Oh, you poor dearie!” She tossed the blanket over him, and Baron curled into it, pressing the fuzzy warmth against his blushed cheeks.
“Th-thank you.”
“No problem. I’m going to set this tea right here on this little table, okay dearie? Drink it when you’re ready. I’ll be warming some soup, and then after you eat, you can take a bath. Okay?”
Baron nodded, watching as she set the cup down. After Heather left, Baron sat alone for a few minutes, watching the steam from the tea twist and curl as it made its ascent. Soon, Shire came in, seating himself in a chair across from Baron with a book in his hands.
“How long have ya been on yer own, Brutus?”
“N-nearly four months.”
“Ah. I surprised ya survived in the cold that long.”
“I-I used to have a place I’d go to, but they found me out.” Baron’s face, fingertips and toes began to itch and swell as they warmed. Even if it was itching, Baron was grateful for a sensation other than cold numbness.
“If ya don’t mind, could ya humor an old man and tell me how ya got yer scar?”
“Th-the one on my neck?”
Shire nodded. “I saw it before ya slipped on the scarf. Rather brutal lookin’.”
Baron shifted, sitting up as he reached under the blanket for the hot mug, gently sipping on the tea. “My friend…gave it to me.” Baron closed his eyes again, savoring the subtle herbal flavor to the tea. It reminded him of the tea a woman had once brewed for him, the same woman who had stitched up the wound on his neck.
“Not a very good friend if ya ask me.”
He opened his eyes. “He was, once.” Baron sipped the tea again, his mind running through the events that had come down. “But we found each other on opposing sides.”
STOP!!!!!!! Have you eaten Breakfast???
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)
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