This is a taster of a story I completed at the beginning of this year ( 2018) after a whole lot of uncertainty, frustration and persistence beginning at the end of September, the year before. I'll be uploading it soon to Wattpad in its first-draft form in its entirety; I think it's the first full-length story I've written that I think is actually worth uploading, so hopefully it'll be received well. I'll be writing up the second draft of it, and after I finish that I think I'll upload it, as a separate work but with the same cover and title. Guess we'll see, but until then, hopefully you peeps enjoy this taste and the actual story to come. :)
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The paved and cracking streets of brick and mud, sand and dust are lined with people of all ages, heights and sizes, almost all with at least one arm raised. The chorus of noise arising from the crowds echoes in my ears. They chant, in rhythm, our empire's name, the name of our new monarch, of the royal crest.
"Escatin! Escatin! Escatin!" It is almost a pulse, a wave, running through my mind like a current. I can't hear my own voice amid the noise but I can see our new king standing on the upraised platform, both of his arms raised to meet ours, a glinting ring of gold on his head, his simple crown.
Even from here, I can see the vivid blue of his eyes, brighter still against the darkness of his skin, and see his dark hair outlined by light. His expression is mild, his eyes solemn, although he smiles amicably for the people. His people, now that his afa has formally retired. While he is only a figurehead, he holds more sway over this empire than he yet knows, holds more of a responsibility than his people think.
The current floods through the city's streets like blood through veins.
The people chant.
"Escatin! Escatin! Escatin!"
He wasn't meant to rule.
Third-born of the former king, at birth he was granted no birthright, no inheritance to the crown. But then the eldest, his brother, the heir, discarded blood, crown and duty for a toxin flooding his veins. And then the second-born, his older sister, bound to a High Commander and yet still heir, died in childbirth.
Here he stands before me now.
King of the empire.
YOU ARE READING
Spontanéité
Historia CortaA collection of some bits and pieces of my written works. These bits and pieces weren't all spontaneous pieces of writing, though. They're descriptions of people, places and memories, and maybe they're short stories or other things. I don't know, it...
