The Resolution

Just after dawn, a woman in jogging attire left her suburban home and made her steady way down the leaf-dusted sidewalk of her neighborhood towards the distant sounds of heavy traffic that would lead her into the city proper. Though the sky was grey, and the scent of rain hung heavy in the air, she was undeterred. She did this every morning, it kept her sane, and she wasn’t about to let a little rain dissuade her. In any case, she had business in the city that day that she was duty-bound to see through. Her name was Mindy and by the decree of a New Year's resolution she had made whilst curled on the couch sipping champagne while her two children slept beside her, watching the ball drop through a half-tipsy haze, she would not spend another year wallowing in single self-pity. No, that year she would throw caution to the wind, grab fate by the balls, slap cupid in his stupid cherub face, or at the very least go on a couple dates. Such was her calling that autumn morn, many months since her resolution had been made. She had a date.

The Only One Worthy

Alessia watched from the balcony of the castle as the long column of victorious soldiers filed through the city gates far below. At their head, she knew, though she couldn’t see him clearly from her vigil, rode her brother, Marius. 

Long Lost Lover

With a merry jaunt, the elven ranger, known to most only as Dew, entered the townstead of Tallow just as the sun-kissed the western horizon, sending fountains of citrus and strawberry across the sky. Clothed from head to toe in tight fitted, emerald attire one would customarily associate with her ilk, she made a drastic contrast to the townsfolk who yet trundled down the town’s main, and only, avenue, clothed as they were in drab shades of grey, brown, or burgundy. Despite this distinction, she was met with naught but hearty greetings at her passing, marking the familiarity with which the town held her, and she them, for she returned each hail with an equally exuberant one of her own.

Brutish Lust

n the early morning hours, Syla crept from her bed. Among her elf-kin around her not one stirred, and though she knew that her footfalls would wake none, still softly did she tread. The tribe that she was staying with currently was a migratory one and, though she was not one of them, she knew that they would judge her for her actions that morn should they discover her motives.