Wait! I Wrote That?

Story Twenty-Four: Illusion (My First Werewolf Book; Draft 2)

Song: "Skyborn" - Ivan Torrent

Genre (s): Fantasy/Werewolf

Written When? Sophomore Year of College

Chapter 5

Guinevere and the Boy (excerpt)

        Even though she was soaked from head to toe, Gwen did not care. As long as she had her mirror, she was just fine.

She quickly sat up in the pond and looked around for her souvenir. Due to the huge waterfall that crashed behind her in the cluster of trees, the area was misty. Therefore, she had some trouble finding the souvenir in the clear water.

Eventually, Gwen felt something hard and gasped. "Baby!" Sure enough, it was her shield-like mirror. "You're okay!" Gwen shouted. When she pulled it out, she hugged it to her chest and constantly kissed the clear center of it. She cuddled her gift for a few minutes but let it go when she heard splashing not far from her. The bandit.

He free-styled over to a small, sandy beach near the foot of the waterfall and lugged himself onto the shore. He coughed water out of his lungs, as he tried to recover from the tussle, and pulled his hood off his head.

From where she sat, Gwen couldn't see him very well, because he was right where the mist was at the peak of its existence. She just saw a silhouette. However, she knew it was the thief who got her in the situation in the first place, and boy, did she want to hurt him! She narrowed her eyebrows to an angry position and pushed herself to her shaky legs. For protection, she grabbed her sword and held it at the ready. Sure, she was angry at the bandit for stealing the mirror right from her hands, but at the same time, didn't she technically steal the sword? Gwen didn't think about her mistake. She just wanted to beat the heck out of the bandit.

She held her mirror in her left hand, her sword in her right, and started towards the beach, where the bandit continued to cough. She could whoop his butt any day, and ho, ho, she was excited to give him exactly what he deserved. Nobody messed with Guinevere Emberblight! After all, she was the daughter of one of the greatest musketeers in Baroque Europe!

On her way to the shivering bandit on the misty, sandy beach, Gwen tried to think which sword slash she would give him–something that would hurt but not kill. Gwen was not a killer, but she was a pain giver. Then again, her fiery personality came from her father.

She hid half her face behind her mirror and tightened her grip on her sword hilt.

Still hidden in the mist, the bandit turned his head and glanced at her. At the sight of the insane girl, he gasped. Terrified, he pushed himself to a sitting position and crawled away from her. That was what Gwen wanted. She wanted him to fear her. It was proof he should have never messed with the daughter of a musketeer.

She stepped onto the sandy beach, into the mist, and thought of something that would surely hurt. She gripped her sword tighter, until her fist turned white, and lunged at the bandit.

He crawled his fastest away from her, but his back hit a log. When he saw he was trapped, his first instinct was to hold his hands out to Gwen like a shield.

She lunged, he cowered, but suddenly, Gwen stopped. She stopped because she saw who she was about to hurt. She stared straight into the emerald green eyes of a teenage boy.

He had to be at least fifteen years old, so a little younger than Gwen, but not by much. Surprisingly, he was quite handsome.

Gwen stabbed her sword in the sand next to him and lowered her mirror so she could stare into his soul.