Moonbeam: A Timeline series companion

chapter 62 teaser

hey guys! how have you all been? i had a pretty exhausting day yesterday, work has been pretty crazy, last week it was very little and this week it was very suddenly a lot. i was supposed to work this morning, but i woke up to find out that i wasn't actually needed and was so happy i could have a day to rest. i don't know, today i ran some errands, i drank coffee, did a TON of reading, i made myself a lunch that was not leftovers, ramen noodles, a sandwich, or any other food you can make and eat in ten minutes, and i didn't have to rush to be anywhere all day which was just... very nice.

ANYWAY. I will stop rambling about my life now bc that's not what you're really here for. I'm hoping to get the Whiteout chapter done today and edited and posted tomorrow, here's a little section from it that I cut for redundancy, but I still really like. Whiteout chapters always take AGES to write because they're like really long poems. Like, what she means and what she thinks/says are two different things. So in my first drafts, most of her dialogue is generally boring and normal unless i'm feeling very inspired, I just write what she means and then I Whiteout-ify it in the edit.

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"What were your parents like?" I ask suddenly. I don't know why, the question suddenly to mind.

Sharp-eyes looks up from his work, suddenly lucid and clear. "My father was an army general, and my mother was an idiot. That's what Grandmother always told me. Why should it matter? They were dead before I could even talk. All they did was pass me off to the nearest dragon who'd take me in. They didn't care enough about me to stay alive, so why should I care about them?" His voice shows no hint of emotion. "Family isn't blood, it's who makes you, and anyone who thinks otherwise is just as foolish as they were."

I'm surprised to realize–on this, I do agree with him.

"You don't miss them at all?"

He scoffs. "Do you miss someone who only existed in mythology?"

Yes.

Always.

I keep trying to see it, when I look at him, a thousand different dragons stitched into one, flickering silhouettes and electric pain. Try to reconcile it with the way my brother looked at Shadowhunter and Eclipse and Way, only a few days old, with a love too powerful and ferocious to name. Keep trying to find the traces of that love in Sharp-eyes, but if it ever was there, it's long since been scrubbed away.

I exchange a glance with Way. A desperate kind of hope seems to fill his eyes. He squashes it down and looks away.