THINGS from my Word Doc.

random crk things that won't be leaving my drafts ever so

i have a few drafts that i don't think i'll ever finish, but i want them to see the light of day in some capacity. also, i don't want to finish the chapter for the work i'm actually writing, but this is a great way to procrastinate.

why are there polls in wattpad now. i hate it

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"hazards" -> original idea was a court forcing the ancients to look through the beasts pasts. then act 1 finished and shot me in the face 57 times. we miss you queen

Fill a workbook up with things you can do when you're

STRESSED!

When things are just a MESS!

When you're feeling kinda anxious or, like, maybe depressed!

I mean, maybe if you tried more, maybe if you tried, maybe if you took more vitamins,

YOU WOULD LEARN TO LIVE A FUCKING LIF-

The morning light glints off the ornate silver trees supporting the courthouse. Leaves curl up the polished trunks, laden with thin hand-carved flowers similarly trapped in life as the stilled trees they clutch. They grasp the glass ceiling in a mocking manner, presenting him both the sky and the bar keeping him away from the freedom of the blue.

He wrenches his gaze away from the top of the excessively ornate building. He's always found it utterly disgusting how they preach of respecting and worshipping the forest and yet trap such plants in delicate metal to force their lifespan to reach wretched immortality. Maybe that's why they found that perennial such a fitting prison- to be caged for all eternity in silver-plated vessels seems to be a favorite of the faeries' law.

The room itself is built like a wedding venue thrown into a court-room. Rows & rows of empty pale wood benches lead up to a dark table that bears the sharp scars of disease with shame compared to the seating infront of it- a raised, near white table that curves inwards at the corners just a little bit. It's legs and edges are adorned with silver lilies that look white in the light crashing down from the sky.

Shadow Milk hates silver.

It is the only color, metal & substance that the Faerie kingdom has decided they can use. It is the skin of the perennial that entrapped him, the material of the bars and chains that had wrapped around his figure. It is the rigid bracelets that currently trap his wrists, dragging magic from his being to fuel it's own protective little force field so he can't rip them off. The bands rip energy from his veins, stealing his ability to fly, to heal, leaving his hair a blueish white mess of curls instead of the black inky monstrosity full of deep blue eyes.

Behind him are his darling siblings, equally disgruntled and skittish. Like wild animals; fawned over from a distance and kept at arms length to avoid their cutting teeth. Behind his siblings are the Mercurial knights or silver knights or whatever idiotic title they were given for sacrificing their flavor to the tyrant guardian. They hate him, he knows. They hold distaste for the others, but Shadow Milk can feel the way their words turn sharper at his name; the loose manner they speak of that wretched tree.

Although he is still quite unsure why they're being dragged into a court room, his semblance of a comfort is that he's sure the tree is out of the picture. Their escape did quite the number on that old hunk of wood, and the last time he got a glimpse, it seems it's only cracking further. Hah! That stupid Faerie was the only one who really understood how the plant functioned, which means Half-life is stuck scrambling.

So, no tree. Probably. He thinks there would've been some visual indication that was the plan- a confident swagger in one of the ancients' walks, a deep satisfaction that would linger in their iris' instead of begrudging sympathy Shadow Milk relishes in knowing Pure Vanilla had to beat into them.