The Pond – Part 9

It had been several days and Izolda had yet to find the chance to slip away to return to the cave. For some reason, Olga seemed determined to keep her close to the village. Izolda would catch her watching her, an odd look in her eye. Was she suspicious about what really happened at the river?

And the few times she managed to escape Olga’s watchful eye, Matyei would follow her. She couldn’t take the chance of him finding out about the cave, he’d tattle to their father, so she’d steer clear of it. He was still the talk of the village, what more did he want? Finally, she confronted him.

“What do you want? Why do you keep following me?”

He seemed a little taken aback by her hostility. “I-I-nothing. But we never talk anymore or spend time together. Have I done something wrong?”

There was none of the softening in her like he’d expected. “No, there is nothing wrong. We are growing older and have different interests. Sometimes I need to be alone to think.”

“You never used to,” he said sullenly.

She did, but time to herself was easier to come by back then.

“You have our father’s regard now, is that not what you wished for?”

“I-I-I am not certain I am worthy of it,” he said. “I still cannot remember clearly what happened. And I don’t seem to be any more powerful in magic than I was before.”

“I have told everyone everything I saw,” Izolda said stiffly. Everyone who, if they knew the truth, would have been appalled instead of elated. “I witnessed only you vanquishing the Rusalka, not the means by which you did it.”

“Still, there is something tickling at the back of my mind. You have always had more magic than I, are you sure—”

“No!” Izolda held up a hand to stop his speech. “You are mistaken. I only appeared to have stronger magic because you were still learning. I am only a woman, and everyone knows a woman’s magic is weak.”

Matyei was like a hound with a bone, however. “But I don’t understand why I was able to banish the-the-creature and still cannot work any of the higher magics.”

Izolda shrugged. “Perhaps you over-reached with what magic you had and it needs to replenish itself. Or maybe,” she added snidely, “You burnt it out with that one spell.”

“What has happened to you, ‘Zolda?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never used to be so mean.” He turned and finally left her alone.

She stared after him with a frown. Cultivating a closeness with him had seemed like a good idea at the time – especially since she’d hoped it would lead to her being able to learn magic through him. But now . . . if Matyei was able to see the changes in her, then so would others. She would need to be more careful.

Wasting no more of her precious time on it, carefully made her way to the cave, stopping every once in awhile to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Izolda breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped through her wards. There was no sign that anyone else had breached them, nor that anyone else had been near here.

This did not surprise her. She would have felt it if her wards had been breached, the spell would have lashed back to her. And the cave was not easy to find in the first place, unless you knew it was there. The entrance was narrow, more like a split in the rock, and leafy shrubs on either side partially obscured it.

There was a lantern hidden near the base of one of the shrubs and Izolda pulled it out and lit it, taking it with her as she entered the cave. Following the narrow passage, she came first to the main chamber, where she learned what magic Varnya was willing to share.

It was messy. There were clothes and rags piled up in the corner, rocks and sticks with leaves and pinecones scattered everywhere, and there was a stale smell to it. Two rickety chairs and a table sat to one side.

Further back was the area the witch had used as her sleeping area. Izolda’s lips tightened. She had never been this far back except for when she had come to break the comb. It was in even worse condition than the rest of the cave and there was a lingering undertone of rot to it.

Setting the lantern up on the shelf where the comb had been, she rolled up her sleeves. She had a lot of work ahead of her.

Jisei or Death Poem

When death was imminent, it was the custom of the ancient Chinese and Japanese to write a poem. If the person was unable to write on their own, Zen monks would write the poem for them. The earliest record of the Jisei was from 686, by Prince Otsu, son of Emperor Temmu. He wrote his when he was forced to commit sepaku (ritual suicide).

The Jisei is not so much a form in itself as a category for the subject. It was usually written in either the classic Chinese Kanshi form: four lines with a 5-7-5-7 syllable count; the Waka form: five lines with a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count; or the Haiku: three lines with a 5-7-5 syllable count.

Death is never mentioned explicitly in a Jisei, so that the poet is able to think more about their life. Early poems used symbolism and imagery, later poems added images from nature. A Jisei can be dark or it can be hopeful but above all it’s meant to be an expression of the acceptance of death, and how the poet has spent their life.

I’m not sure if my examples can be considered true Jisei, as (to my knowledge) I’m not on the verge of death. And I can only hope that by writing them I’m not tempting fate.


Kanshi

Behind me is the
long road that life has taken –
ups and downs and turns,
I look back with no regrets


Waka Form

Life’s no longer mine
and I come to the trail’s end
I hope it’s autumn
my favorite time of year
would be a good time to leave


Haiku

Like the autumn leaves
my concerns fall and scatter
wind take me away

Tug of War

That’s creativity in a nutshell. A messy tug-of-war with imagination to erase that feeling that nothing really matters anyway.
— Zoe Whittall

From my experience, the best advisors help in three ways: encourage you to look at the problem or opportunity from multiple angles; help you balance the tug of the short-term with important long-term priorities; and ask the tough questions you need to know to reach the best solution.
— Margo Georgiadis

Is there a word for the moment you win tug-of-war? When the weight gives, and all that extra rope comes hurtling towards you, how even though you've won, you still end up with muddy knees and burns on your hands? Is there a word for that? I wish there was.
— Sarah Kay

As you know, or should by now if you’re a regular reader of this blog, I’ve been struggling for a long time trying to juggle all of the things I’ve got going on in my life. And what I’ve finally realized is this. It comes down to two sides of my creative nature – the writer’s side, and the crafter’s side.

You’d think it would have been a little more obvious to me by now, but it wasn’t. See, the thing is, most people I know focus on one or the other. If they’re writers, they’re able to focus on their writing. While the crafters seem to spend all their free time crafting.

With me I feel a conflict. I’ve always been a crafter, although my crafting never consumed me. And I’ve always been a writer, but never to the exclusion of all else. Well, except during Nano. ;-) But lately, I’m feeling an internal tug-of-war between my crafting and my writing. How did this happen?

Some time during the last couple of years I started to become more active in my stitchery. Though I’ve always been a crafter, it’s something that’s always been sporadic. I’d be really enthusiastic in my crafts, and then my interest would wane for big blocks of time. But since joining the stitchery guild I’ve taken my crafting more seriously, just like I take my writing seriously.

Which leads me to my tug of war. When I’m working on a craft, I feel guilty because it’s time I could be using for writing. And when I’m working on my writing, I feel the urge to work on a craft. And I feel guilty for spending too much time on one or the other.

I have a whole list of writing projects I want to finish, with more waiting to be started. And I have a bunch of stitchery projects in various stages of being done, with plans to do more. I’d really like to get into fabric art. I’d really like to start a multi-volume science fiction series. Tug, tug, tug.

I don’t think the crafting is going to go away anytime soon, so I’m going to have to learn to reconcile the crafting with the writing or I’m going to drive myself crazy. So last week I made myself a list of all the things I wanted to get done, and then picked out the few things I needed to get done that week and prioritized them. It seemed to work out quite well.

Well, it did until I made writing a letter to my sister a priority. I haven’t written her since June (yes, I’m a bad sister) so it was long overdue. Fortunately, I keep a journal and I could refer to it to keep me on track. Unfortunately, it was more time consuming than I counted on, and the whole time I’m thinking I should be working on a Christmas craft for the upcoming Christmas sale, or I should be working on the next installment of the serial story. And I’m not finished yet.

But a new week is upon us, and that means a new list to prioritize. We’ll have to wait and see if it’s still working.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

The good news is I brought the total words up again, the bad news is that it wasn’t extra words, just longer blog posts. *sigh*

I started out the week with the assumption I’d get a couple of installments on the serial story done early, and maybe my poetry post done ahead of time, but this didn’t happen. And why didn’t it happen (you ask)? Because I got sucked into the hidden objects gaming universe.

Hidden object games are so much worse than solitaire or word games because they’re always changing, so you don’t get bored quite as easily. Oh, you can tell yourself, “just one more round,” but next thing you know it’s time to make supper.

The list I made and prioritized as to what needed to be done helped, but I still have to stay away from the games to do it.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,911+574+323+695=3,503
Poetry – 88 words (included in blog post) + 171 word poem for CPW
Total – 3,503+171=3,674

Goals For Next Week:
Try to keep up with my writing while I’m away.

EDITING:
31 pages
Be still my heart, there’s light at the end of that very long, dark tunnel. I have a handful of scenes I marked for rewriting, but for all intents and purposes, the edits on Magical Mayhem are done! That’s not to say the book is done, however. I still have the final polish, and the cover, blurb, and tag line. But still . . . woot!
Get the cover, blurb, and tag line figured out.

MARKETING:
No Marketing. Not even an attempt at marketing. Too much other stuff on the go.

Goal For Next Week:
Submit two flash stories and one poem.

TECH & TRAINING:
Nothing that relates to writing, but with the help of YouTube I did learn how to use the rolled hem presser foot on my sewing machine. Oh, man, does it ever make hemming a breeze! I only wish I’d known about these presser feet years ago. And I also consulted the book that came with the sewing machine and re-learned how to do button holes properly.

Goal For Next Week:
Check out the features of Dropbox.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I really struggled with my example for the Virelai poetry form. But I got it done, and posted on time. And then I was going through my files I found I’d done a Virelai many years ago and the example I created back then was a tad better. Oh, well, it happens.

After spending so much time and effort, sweat and toil, on the Virelai, it was a pleasure to work on the poemwork assigned for this month’s poetry gathering. I could write whatever I wanted, as long as I stayed on topic. So I did.

As far as an anthology goes . . . I figure I’ll stick to traditional poems, that is, poems whose forms you can look up online. If that goes well, maybe I’ll do one with non-traditional forms next.

Goal For Next Week:
Find an easier form to share.

CRAFTING:
Well. The crafting didn’t go at all as planned last week. I really expected to get more done. No work on the pillow case. No work on the cancer blanket. No work on the Christmas crafts, although the granddaughter is coming over this afternoon to do some with me.

But I did get the alterations done to the sleeveless blouse and got the hand sewing done on it, and then I got the button holes and buttons put on it. I also put a new casing on the skirt and finished it up. My outfit is done!

Honestly, I have never taken so long on a single outfit in my life. Of course, I was doing a lot of other things at the same time – normally I’d take an entire day or two and just work at something until it was done – but still . . .

I also hemmed a pair of track pants for my mother-in-law and used my new rolled hem presser foot to hem some pajama pants for my father-in-law. Man, that thing is handy! And so easy to use, I wish I’d known about them years ago.

Goal For Next Week:
Work on Christmas crafts. Work on the cancer afghan. Work on pansy pillowcases.

WHAT I’M READING:
Honestly, I didn’t do much reading last week. I only read a couple of chapters of The Book Haters Book Club by Gretchen Anthony before I got distracted away from it. And then I read a few chapters of Hook, Line, and Sinker, by Tessa Bailey before realizing that although I liked what I read so far, it wasn’t what I wanted to read. So then I started reading Unnatural Creatures, which is an anthology of stories chosen by Neil Gaiman.

Goal For Next Week:
Suck it up and update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

My total word count was back up from last week’s, but the only real gain was the extra poem I wrote, and I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t had a poetry gathering to go to. I was late with this post last week, but all the others were up on time. I didn’t get as early a start on my serial installment as I would have liked, but I also didn’t have to stay up late to get it done so I’ll take that as a win.

After I got sucked into a third hidden objects game and wasted an entire day on them, I realized something drastic needed to be done. So I deleted the shortcuts off my desktop, uninstalled them from my programs, and even deleted the installation files from my downloads.

I really need to at least start a list of the books I’ve read, and then start updating my Goodreads account say, five books at a time. I’ve fallen so behind on keeping it up to date it isn’t even funny.

I got more stuff done after getting rid of the games – got my skirt and blouse finished, did the hemming that’s been hanging over my head, and finally got to put my sewing stuff away, at least for a while. But I made no progress on my Christmas crafts and I have another stitchery meeting this week. I’m hoping that with my granddaughter’s help today I’ll have at least a little something to show for my time.

So another up and down week for me, but the week ahead is going to be more writerly focused because it’s off to Writersfest 2022 – four days of lectures, seminars, and classes in beautiful Kingston, starting on Thursday.

Happy writing.

The Pond – Part 8

Izolda needed time to think, and plan. She needed to explore the witch’s cave. What she needed most was time to herself to adjust to these new-found powers that she could barely keep contained. Instead, from the moment she was within sight of the village she was being fussed over by her mother and several aunts. Maybe she’d done a little too good a job of changing her appearance to something more disheveled.

While the men made much of Matyei, who seemed somewhat bewildered by his newfound status as favored son, the women tended to Izolda. She was excused from her evening chores, the dirt washed from her face and arms by Olga herself, then she was wrapped in a blanket and given a place by the fire, a thick clay mug of herbal tea cradled in her hands.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” her mother asked, gently brushing the detritus from her hair.

Izolda shook her head, no.

“You are fortunate she only set a distancing spell on you,” Polina told her. “It could have been so much worse.”

“She was not likely to have been in any danger,” Anya said with a sniff.

The others, including Izolda, looked at her.

“It is well known that the Rusalka care only for men’s souls, not women’s.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Polina retorted. “Bu the creature could have just as easily decided to kill her instead of banishing her.”

Izolda focused her attention on the mug in her hands and said nothing, but she couldn’t hold back a wince as her mother pulled at a knot in her hair.

“Still,” Olga said evenly, setting the comb aside. “It is not an experience to be taken lightly. Facing a Rusalka is enough to make even a grown man shake in his boots.”

The others murmured in agreement.

“I would not have thought he had it in him,” Izolda’s grandmother murmured.

“Who, mother?” Olga asked.

“The boy.”

They all looked over to where Andrei was telling everyone within earshot of how skilled his son was, and at such a tender age. Izolda had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing at the perplexed expression on Matyei’s face.

“I would never have believed he could face a Rusalka and live.” Grandmother pointed her walking stick towards Izolda. “You witnessed the battle. He did banish it, did he not?”

Izolda thought quickly. “The creature banished me to the woods,” she said in a shaky voice. “But I know these woods well and it did not take me long to make my way back to the river. I did not see all that transpired, but I saw Matyei cast some kind of spell and the Rusalka turned to smoke.”

Her grandmother nodded in satisfaction.

“I, for one, would like to know what spell he used,” Anya said.

Olga agreed. “I can scarce believe he learned such from Andrei, but it will do no good to ask. Men guard their spells like jealous lovers.”

Izolda finished her tea and did not even have to feign weariness as she excused herself and made her way up to the corner of the loft where she slept.

But sleep was a long time coming. Her mind would not quiet. Thanks to the addition of Varnya’s power, hers now eclipsed even that of her father. What was she to do with all of it though? Certainly not live out her life as her mother had, hiding her true nature. What good was power if you could not use it?

Izolda did not know how, but she knew her future lay beyond the village of Likhvin. She had so many questions. Tomorrow she would go to the cave and begin her search for answers there. But she would have to be careful, very careful. The men would be easily fooled, but the other women would not.

Virelai Poetry Form

This poem comes to us from medieval France, and was often set to music. It’s one of the three fixed French forms, the other two being the ballade and the rondeau. It’s a kind of complicated form, with alternating rhymes and syllable counts.

The Virelai can have any number of nonets (9-line stanzas), but usually has at least three. It is syllabic with the syllable count being 5-5-2-5-5-2-5-5-2. It also rhymes, with the five syllable lines rhyming with each other, and the two syllable lines rhyming with each other.

Here’s the schematic:

xxxxa
xxxxa
xb
xxxxa
xxxxa
xb
xxxxa
xxxxa
xb

Now, in the second stanza, the first line picks up the rhyme from the last line of the first stanza and this continues as the rhyme for the five syllable lines of this verse. The two syllable lines get a new rhyme of their own. This pattern continues in the following verses. In other words, the end rhyme for the second verse would be bbcbbcbbc, the third verse would be ccdccdccd, and so forth.

I told you it was a little complicated. Honestly, after struggling with my example I want to go back to an unstructured form! The five syllable lines were bad enough, but the two syllable ones were a killer. Yikes!


Creativity

vaguely, in my mind
stray thoughts left behind
amass
some thoughts are unkind
some are less defined
like glass
all are unconfined
stories in my mind
en masse

deep in the morass
dreams may come to pass
tonight
such dreams oft surpass
the mind’s deep crevasse
of sight
and reason is bypassed
here at this impasse
tonight

flash, like a floodlight
pierce the brain, ignite
regret
for the things I write
under the moonlight
abet
thoughts, I cannot fight
this is my birthright
. . . forget

Sensory Deprivation

Our bodies have five senses: touch, smell, taste, sight, hearing. But not to be overlooked are the senses of our souls: intuition, peace, foresight, trust, empathy. The differences between people lie in their use of these senses; most people don't know anything about the inner senses while a few people rely on them just as they rely on their physical senses, and in fact probably even more.
― C. JoyBell C.

You must learn to heed your senses. Humans use but a tiny percentage of theirs. They barely look, they rarely listen, they never smell, and they think that they can only experience feelings through their skin. But they talk, oh, do they talk.
― Michael Scott

Equipped with his five senses, man explores the universe around him and calls the adventure Science.
— Edwin Powell Hubble

One of the things I hate about summer is having to have the house shut up to keep the cool air in and the hot air out. The fan in the air conditioning unit in our furnace is loud. I don’t hear the birds singing, or the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, or the rain drumming a symphony on the windows, or the bad-tempered rumble of thunder during a storm . . .

Of course the trade off is I also don’t have to try and breathe in the hot, sticky air, have the perspiration beading up on my skin, or hear the whine of insects buzzing around my head.

But I do enjoy the roses in my garden when they’re at the peak of their beauty, their fragrance wafting upwards, the cool dew from the grass on my bare feet, the sharp sweetness of a strawberry, warm from the sun.

Now I could have just said I hate having to keep the doors and windows closed because the air conditioning is so loud I miss the sounds of summer, but at least I don’t have to put up with the humidity or the bugs. But don’t you think I painted a better picture when I used my senses to describe my thoughts in more detail?

Sensory description is one of the greatest tools in the writer’s toolbox, but it’s one seldom used, which is a shame because appealing to your readers senses is an effective way of drawing them in and making them feel like part of the story.

“The smell of apples and cinnamon wafted its way through the house, drawing us to the kitchen where Mom was setting out slices of fresh from the oven pie, a chime ringing out each time she gently tapped the scoop on a plate to dislodge the already melting ice cream.”

“Mom made pie and we had a piece in the kitchen.”

Which sounds better to you? Which draws you in, reminding you of your own childhood maybe, making your mouth water for a slice of pie? Notice I didn’t describe the pie, just the smell of it and the sound of the ice cream scoop as it hit the plate. But it was enough to give you a picture of the pie. What if I used all five senses?

“The smell of apples and cinnamon wafted its way through the house, drawing us to the kitchen. There was Mom, pretty as a picture in her yellow dress, a white apron protecting it and a matching scarf covering her dark hair. She’d already cut into the pie, and the first pieces were sitting on the table, ice cream melting where it met the hot apple. She tapped the scoop against the last plate to dislodge the ice cream, a chime ringing out as though signalling us to sit down. I brushed my hand over the cool wood of the table as I slid into my seat beside my brother and we dug in. Hot pie and cold ice cream hit my tongue in a burst of sweetness I tried to savor as long as I could.”

Over the top, or just enough? It really depends on the context. While the first one is more appealing than the second, the third one would really only be appropriate if there was something important about that pie.

This is bringing us back to show and tell. Adding sensory details is a great way to take a scene from telling to showing. If you haven’t figured it out for yourself, the first and third paragraphs are showing, the second one is telling.

So try adding a little sensory detail to your writing and see what happens. Don’t just use sight and sound, use touch, taste, and smell as well. You’ll be surprised what a difference it makes.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

Well this is unexpected. I was 600 words down from last week. But then again, looking back I realize that when I did write it went pretty easily for a change, I had a couple of setbacks that kept me from getting more done than I would have liked to.

First of all, my ice pick headaches were back. An ice pick headache is a sharp, shooting pain in the head, like you’re being stabbed with an ice pick. They only last for a second or two, but they tend to come in clusters. In my case I was getting them off and on during the entire week.

Medical science doesn’t really have a handle on what causes them. It might have something to do with the way the brain controls pain, or due to nerves, blood vessels, or muscles in the head and neck. But the bottom line is, there’s really nothing they can do to treat it. Funny how a stabbing pain in the head can distract you from focusing on your writing though.

And . . . I cannot tell a lie. I was seduced by Facebook to click on a link for a hidden objects game. I have a weakness for hidden objects and I may have spent more time that I should have playing one. Make that two.

And the final nail in my productivity coffin was the amount of time I spent on crafting concerns. Back in the spring I committed to producing some items for the craft sale my guild is having in December and I’ve been pretty slack on it. So I spent a lot of time going through craft stuff and deciding what crafts I’m going to be doing.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,483+645+259+656=3,043
Poetry – 64 (included in blog post)

Total words: 3,043

Goals For Next Week:
Try write words other than blog posts.

EDITING:
3 pages
Bah, humbug! I only made it down to my office once last week, and it wasn’t for long. See above talk about the ice pick headaches. I have to say, it was a little disappointing, especially since I’m so close to being finished. But the good news is, I know what I want on the cover, I just need to find the right pictures.
Step up the editing pace on Magical Mayhem.

MARKETING:
*sigh* No Marketing.

Goal For Next Week:
Submit two flash stories and one poem.

TECH & TRAINING:
Nope. Nothing to report here, either.

Goal For Next Week:
Check out the features of Dropbox.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Last week’s form was the Seguidilla. This was a little bit more complicated than the forms I’ve been doing lately, but it serves me right for whining about how unstructured the previous form was.

I gave no thoughts to the anthology.

Goal For Next Week:
Find a new form to share and give some more thought to the anthology.

CRAFTING:
I had to re-stamp parts of my pillowcase because the first stamping didn’t take really well. I didn’t want to cut up the transfer, so I traced it onto parchment and then went over it with a transfer pencil, THEN I was able to cut it apart and iron it onto only the places that needed it. And after all of that I actually worked on it a bit at the stitchery guild meeting.

Friday afternoon I helped set up our display at the Port Hope Fair, and then Saturday morning I was one of the two bodies manning the table – answering questions about our group and the pieces on display, and trying to recruit new members. I ended up being there much longer than I expected, but I kept busy working on some of my Christmas crafts.

And I got a few more rows done on the cancer blanket, so all in all it was a good week for crafts.

Goal For Next Week:
Work on Christmas crafts. Work on the cancer afghan. Get the alterations done to the sleeveless blouse and finish the skirt.

WHAT I’M READING:
Still haven’t updated my Goodreads account, unfortunately it’s just not high on my priority list.

Finished reading Small Town Big Magic by Hazel Beck. I enjoyed this book, right up until I got to the end. The author wrapped things up nicely but then she ruined it all with a final paragraph that turned it into an unnecessary cliff hanger. The way the story ended, we already knew there was going to be more books in the series. But by adding that cliff-hanger she kind of beat us over the head with it and I, for one, refuse to fall for her clickbait tactics. I will not be buying the next book in the series.

I also read Before the Coffee Gets Cold, by Toshikazu Kawaguchi, which was a somewhat odd, but engaging novel with four linked stories taking place in a small café. And I’m a few pages in on The Book Haters Book Club by Gretchen Anthony – too soon to know if I’m going to like it or not.

Goal For Next Week:
Suck it up and update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

My total word count was down from last week’s, which shouldn’t have surprised me considering all the other stuff I had going on. I was late with Monday’s post, but all the others were done on time. And I actually got my serial installment ready early.

I hang my head in shame over the amount of time I spent on those two hidden object games. But I’m at the point in them that they’re getting kind of tedious because collecting items in the game to advance is slow going, and I refuse to pay for what I need.

Did a little more reading than I have been, and my choice of books is a little broader, but I still haven’t updated my Goodreads account. Didn’t get the alterations done on the blouse, but I did get the seams ripped out in preparation. And over all, I spent more time on crafts than I’ve been doing.

So when all is said and done it was probably more of a down week than up, but I still just keep going.

Happy writing.

The Pond – Part 7

It was some time later when Izolda awoke in the witch’s cave. There was no confusion or disorientation, instead she was filled with the knowledge of what had happened and the consequences of what she’d done.

Varnya’s power was hers. She could feel it crackling beneath the surface, ready to be called upon should she need it. There was also the knowledge that the witch had come here seeking out those of power to replenish her own. The spell Izolda had memorized was simple - sacrifice one of power to gain that power for your own.

This is what happened to the young men from the village of Bakal, Varnya had lured them to the river to drain their magic – that’s what truly killed them. But the magic of Bakal was not as strong as the magic of Likhvin, Izolda’s village, which is why Varnya befriended Izolda, to gain access to more powerful prey.

Izolda had always known Varnya was not teaching her out of the goodness of her heart, that she had an ulterior motive. Now she knew that the witch had fully intended to drain her dry of her magic. One last gulp of power before moving on.

There would be many questions. The ripple from the transfer of power would have been felt in the village. Izolda needed to come up with plausible answers. She could deal with the contents of the cave later. For now she set her own wards at the entrance, far superior to Varnya’s, and headed back to the river.

Matyei was lying half in, half out of the river. As Izolda checked to make sure he was still alive, a plan began to form. With a single thought her appearance became more disheveled. Taking hold of Matyei by the shoulders, she began to drag him the rest of the way out of the river. When her father and several others from the village reached them, Matyei was just regaining his senses.

“What has happened here?” Andrei demanded, an accusing glare directed at Izolda as though it were all her fault.

“Oh, father!” she wailed, arms clutched around herself, rocking back and forth as she crouched on the ground beside her brother. “Matyei is a hero! He vanquished the Ruslka!”

“What nonsense is this? What have you done to him?” He gripped Izolda by the arm, pulling her to her feet. With a motion of his other hand directed two of his other sons to help their brother.

Izolda sniffled. “We came to the river to fish, Matyei and I. There was a woman,” she choked back a sob. “A strange woman. She looked at us with glowing red eyes and we were frozen in place. Then suddenly I was surrounded by woods.”

She shuddered. “I knew something bad was happening. I made my way back to the river in time to see Matyei break free of the Rusalka’s power and vanquish her.”

Andrei’s grip loosened and Izolda sank back to the ground. “Is this true?” he demanded of Matyei, who’d been helped to his feet by his brothers.

“I—I—” he glanced helplessly at Izolda. “We came to fish, yes. And the woman came to us suddenly. I did not see what happened to Izolda – the woman cast a spell on me. I—I—remember standing in the river . . .” He shivered. “My memory is foggy. I thought I was going to die, but she turned to smoke.”

Andrei’s face showed a mixture of emotions, finally settling on pride. He clasped Matyei in his arms. “Behold my son, vanquisher of evil!”

Izolda waited until the men started back to the village before climbing to her feet. She gave a sniff, wiping the false tears away. Her grandmother was right, she decided as she trailed after them.

All men are fools.

Seguidilla Poem

Be careful what you wish for. Last week I complained that I didn’t like a form so unstructured, this week I’m finding the form a little too structured. There’s just no pleasing me, is there?

The Seguidilla began as a folk dance in 17th century Spain before evolving into the poetic form. It has alternating long/short lines of 7 syllables and 5 syllables that gives it its rhythm.

It can be written in however many septets (7 line verses) as you wish, although there is a slight pause between lines 4 and 5, often an end stop. This is often marked with a change in thought between lines four and five.

Here’s the schematic for it:

xxxxxxx
xxxxA
xxxxxxx
xxxxA
xxxxB
xxxxxxx
xxxxB

An alternate rhyme scheme is:

xxxxxxx
xxxxA
xxxxxxx
xxxxA
xxxxB
xxxxxxA
xxxxB

I have to admit I struggled with my example. And honestly, I’m not happy with the result although I did manage two verses where the examples I’ve seen only have one. I may revisit this form some day to better do it justice, but for now I’ll just have to share what I managed to come up with.


Autumn

The days grow short, nights are long
death is in the air,
darkness is growing closer,
time to reap with care.
Harvest moon up high
shining down on empty fields,
timeless in the sky.

When harvest time is over
fire lights up the hill
to celebrate the Samhain,
promises fulfilled;
ancient rites achieved
by those who keep the faith if
legend is believed.

Chocolate Thief

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
― Willie Nelson

When the mouse laughs at the cat, there's a hole nearby.
― Nigerian Proverb

If you build a better mousetrap, you will catch better mice.
— George Gobel

Last week was another one of those weeks where I had a plan. Last weekend was the Labor Day weekend, which meant the kids went back to Tuesday, which meant no more babysitting. I spent the holiday Monday back and forth between my current office and my former office (across the hall) de-junking both spaces and ferreting out stuff to donate to a big thrift store.

I actually loaded up the car Monday night, so I could drive to the thrift store first thing Tuesday morning. Everything went as planned, and on the drive home I started thinking about the bit of work I had left to do in my office – dealing with a couple of left over bins and the stacks of books on the floor.

But when I got home a wave of apple scented air hit me – I had a bag of apples given to me by my neighbor and I needed to deal with them. That took me the rest of the day and cleaning my office was put off until the following day.

I won’t bore you with the details but my office was looking pretty good when I happened to notice that the opened chocolate bar I’d tossed into a bin with a bunch of other stuff to be dealt with later, looked like it had been nibbled on. So I looked in the small bookcase I’d pulled it from, and sure enough I spotted some mouse droppings. Eww!

This was a game changer. My office now needed a thorough cleaning. Which is how I spent my Thursday. In the process, I also discovered that one of the Kinder eggs (chocolate, foil-wrapped eggs that have a plastic bulb with a prize inside, not available in the U.S.) I’d left on my desk about a month ago had been broken into. There were a couple of holes in it, right through the foil wrapper.

Double ewww!

The irony of this is that I used to keep a stash of snacks in the bottom drawer of my desk, but stopped months ago. And those snacks had never been touched. All that was left in that drawer was a jar of Planters Peanuts from well before Christmas, about a 1/4 full. A jar that now had a chewed up lid (although they hadn’t made it through the plastic yet).

The open jar full of Werther’s caramels on my desk was untouched, as was my baggy of dark chocolate squares. Since the caramels were individually wrapped I just closed the air-tight lid, but the baggy I tossed.

I guess the mice only liked the milk chocolate of the Kinder eggs. In fact, when I was moving stuff away from one of the book cases to vacuum, I found the yellow plastic bulb from the center of an egg which had been opened to reveal the toy inside, and a few flecks of foil from the wrapping. Could the mice have really carried an egg off my desk to chew on at their leisure?

I have never had any sign of a mouse in my office before, not even when I habitually stashed snacks in my desk drawer. Of course I used to have a cat and I find it interesting that this has taken place about a month after we had to have him put to sleep.

You can be sure when I replenish my stash of dark chocolate I’ll be putting it in a vacuum sealed jar, like my caramels. As for the Kinder eggs, I’ll still buy them for my granddaughter and I to enjoy when she comes to visit, but I’ll be keeping them in the fridge from now on.

At least until I get a replacement for my cat.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

I totalled about 300 more words last week than the week before, and I’m kind of surprised I managed that, what with all the time lost to apple peeling/slicing and the thorough cleaning of my office.

Most of the extra words were in the serial story. It ran a little long, but it couldn’t be helped – there was a lot going on. My only problem with it is that I wrote it late at night so I wasn’t feeling the most coherent and I think the installment suffered for it.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,548+816+610+928=3,602
Poetry – Poetry – 68 (included in blog post)

Total words: 3,602

Goals For Next Week:
Try write words other than blog posts.

EDITING:
11 pages
It may not seem like a lot of work, but first, see the above story about my cleaning binge. And second, I’m taking a little more time. I’ve been working with the marked up version my editor sent me, most of which are just little changes. When there’s been a big change I’ve pretty much been highlighting it to come back to later. There hasn’t been a lot of them, but there’s a few.

But now I’ve been making the lengthy changes as I go along. Like, rewriting a scene where it seems like there’s a narrator that appears out of nowhere. So, the editing is taking a little more time. The good news is, I only have about 50 pages left.

Goal For Next Week:
Step up the editing pace on Magickal Mayhem.

MARKETING:
*sigh* No Marketing. I was gonna, but I didn’t.

Goal For Next Week:
Submit two flash stories and one poem.

TECH & TRAINING:
I didn’t get around to figuring out what I’m going to do with my new and improved subscription to Dropbox, but I did straighten out my virus protection. Avast was bugging the crap out of me with all its popups, so I decided to go with McAfee (seeing as my original subscription automatically renewed itself). I even managed to get rid of the trial version Staples installed – no more annoying popups telling me my free version was expired.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out what I’m doing with Dropbox.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
Last week’s form was the Descort. It wasn’t a difficult form, but I find I prefer ones that are a little more structured. The whole point of the Descort is that it is totally unstructured.

Goal For Next Week:
Find a new form to share and give some more thought to the anthology.

CRAFTING:
Didn’t work on the pillowcase at all last week, but I did get another stripe done. Each stripe is 10 rows.

I actually did get my sewing machine working again and finally sewed my sleeveless blouse together. Unfortunately, it needs some altering. By hook or by crook I will make it fit!

Goal For Next Week:
Work the pillowcase. Work on the cancer afghan. Get the alterations done to the sleeveless blouse and finish the skirt.

WHAT I’M READING:
Still haven’t updated my Goodreads account – I’m really going to hate myself when I finally get around to it.

Finished reading Book Lovers by Emily Henry and started reading Small Town Big Magic by Hazel Beck. I’m only a couple of chapters in, but I like what I’ve read so far. And I have incentive to read faster – I had four books delivered last week, including the new Stephen King book, Fairy Tale.

Goal For Next Week:
Suck it up and update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

My total word count was a little higher than last week’s, which was good considering my week was even busier than the week before. I’m not sure that straightening out my virus protection counts as tech or training, but it’s all I got. :-)

I’m happy to report that I didn’t spend as much time on the games. And for all my office has never been cleaner, I didn’t get around to doing my shredding.

Did take my car load of donations to the thrift store, but the only room that really impacted was my office. Did I mention how clean it is now?

I actually did make a couple of lists last week, long lists that lasted a couple of days each. It did actually help me be more productive, so you can be sure I’ll be keeping up with that.

Happy writing.

The Pond – Part 6

“No! I will not do it!”

Varnya raised a brow. “When we began, you agreed to do whatever I asked of you.”

“Yes, but—”

“You have come too far to become the coward now. You crave power as much as I.”

Izolda was silent. She was thirteen now, her brother Matyei was ten and had completed his lessons in magic. Or rather, Andrei had decided his precious seventh son had grown as much as he was going to in magic. His disappointment was palpable.

Matyei and Izolda were no longer as close as they once were. Matyei was well aware his father found him lacking, and that Izolda would have made a better son than him. But though he could not help his resentment of her, he still kept the secret of her magic to himself. For now, at least.

“This is no small thing you ask of me,” Izolda said finally. “I must think on it.”

“Of course,” Varnya said.

Izolda left the witch’s cave, but she did not go home. Instead, she went to her favorite rock by the river to sit and think. And she had much to think about.

She had been studying with Varnya for three years now, and though she’d learned a great deal she knew that Varnya was holding back. The spells she was learning were minor. When she questioned Varnya about the greater spells she was told she was not ready. It was too soon. Was this really the case? Or was Varnya worried about the student outstripping the teacher?

They were supposed to be working together, yet Izolda was the one taking all the risks. She was the one to gather personal items to lay a curse, a lock of hair to create a hex. And yet Varnya hoarded the actual spells, telling her she wasn’t yet ready for the responsibility.

Izolda stood. Varnya was right about one thing. She craved power. She knew what she had to do.

Two days later she returned to Varnya’s cave.

“Tell me what I must do.”

Varnya gave a small smile of satisfaction, secure in the knowledge the girl was her devout follower.

“All you need do is lure your little brother to the river and wait. I’ll take care of everything else and his power will be mine.”

“Don’t you mean ours?”

“Of course,” Varnya said smoothly. “We will share it equally.”

It was easy enough to draw Matyei away from home without anyone seeing them. It helped ease her conscience that he was being particularly vexing.

“I never knew that father liked fish so much. Are you sure if I catch him some fish he’ll forgive me for my mistake with the garden?”

“Anyone could get that spell wrong, reversing instead of enhancing the beet crop.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Izolda sighed. “I noticed there are some large fish that like to collect in the river near the black rocks. All you need to do is catch them.”

They reached the river and Izolda watched dispassionately as Matyei cast his line. She felt Varnya’s approach and a shiver of anticipation went up her spine. The witch gave her a pointed look and Izolda stepped back from her brother. Before Matyei realized what was happening, Varnya raised her hand in a clawing motion and froze him where he stood.

“So young, such potential,” Varnya hissed. “You need to take a step now.”

Matyei had no choice but to obey. He stepped into the water. Neither of them noticed that Izolda had vanished.

“Witch!” Matyei forced the word past his lips.

“Why yes,” Varnya said with a wide, toothy smile. “You and I are going to have some fun before I drain you dry.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Izolda ran down the path as fast as her feet would carry her. It was not that she cared overmuch for her brother’s life, but she needed him to keep Varnya distracted. She reached the cave and was stopped by Varnya’s wards. Fortunately, like everyone else, the witch underestimated her.

She laid her left palm on the solid air of the ward and muttered a spell. The ward dissolved under her hand. Wasting no time, if Varnya was smart she would have attuned herself to her wards and know they were breeched, she went to the very back of the cave where Varnya kept her personal things.

The witch was not much of a housekeeper. Quickly, quickly, she rooted through the piles of books and papers, clothes and blankets. Nothing. Glancing around, she saw a small metal box on a wooden shelf beside several stoppered bottles. That had to be it!

Even as she reached for it she could feel Varnya approaching, and she was in a rage. Izolda fumbled with the box – it was locked. Frantically she searched her mind for the right spell, finding it just as Varnya reached the chamber.

“What are you doing?” Varnya screeched. She was in her true form – her tangled hair had a greenish cast to it. Her thin, grey skinned form was clad in dripping rags.

“It was always going to end with one of us dead,” Izolda said. She took the comb made of fish bone in her hand and snapped it in half.

Varnya screeched, a long, wailing sound, and turned to smoke. Izolda recited the spell she found in the cave two days ago, the one Varnya had intended to use on Matyei. The power slammed into her, and she knew no more.

Descort Poem

What has no rhyme, no rhythm, and no syllable count? If you answered the Descort (which means quarrel or discord) poetry form, you’d be right.

The Descort is believed to have been created by Garin d’Apchier, one of the French troubadours of the High Middle Ages (1100 t0 1350). It’s distinguished by its lack of consistency, which makes it the perfect poetry form for the beginner. The Descort is constantly changing, which creates an inconsistent flow. Here are a few guidelines:

There is no rhyme.
There is no syllable count.
There is no meter.
Every line should be distinctive – each line should have a different length from the one directly before it or after it.
There can be as many or as few stanzas as you wish, but they should be of different lengths too.
Despite its erratic nature, it was intended to be musical, although I’m not sure how one would set it to music.

Do not confuse the Descourt with Free Verse, or a List Poem. Its discordant nature makes it unique. It’s an interesting form to work with. My default is rhyme and rhythm and it’s strange to actively avoid it. To be perfectly honest, I like a little more discipline to my poetry – this is not going to be one of my favorite forms.


Autumn

Leaves turning
The days are getting shorter now
Nights, longer and chill

Crisp sunny days
The park is all but deserted now
My footsteps crunch
Vibrant colours begin to fade
Squirrels gather nuts

Thick woolen sweaters
Plaid blanket
Favorite pair of hiking boots
Jeans

Sitting by the fire
Steam wafting upwards from a cup of tea
A book open on my lap
Maybe pie
Pumpkin of course

Bad Idea

Our minds are a battle ground between good and bad ideas; we are whatever side wins the battle.
― Bangambiki Habyarimana

Take time to reflect, let ideas flow on their own schedule and let yourself have numerous bad ideas to inspire the good ones.
― Joanie Connell

A bad idea or a bold idea. And yet, history’s greatest minds always advised bold over safe; their words good padding for even the worst ideas.
― Holly Jackson

Where do you get your ideas? This is the question writers are asked most often. And no one wants to hear, “I dunno, they just come to me,” (said with a shrug). They want specifics. I used to think it’s kind of a dumb question – ideas are everywhere, you just have to open your eyes to them – but it’s not always that simple.

Yes, ideas are all around us, but are they good ideas? Ideas with enough meat to sustain them for an entire story, or novella, or novel? Not always. Sometimes the ideas you come up with are terrible. And you don’t always realize this until you’ve wasted considerable time trying to make it work.

I’m guilty of this, especially if I’m working with generated prompts. What looks good as a prompt doesn’t always translate into a story.

So how can you tell if your idea is good or bad? Well, you can’t always. But there are signs you should abandon it. If it’s taking too for you to get that first word down – you sit there and stare at the screen (or notepad) and nothing happens. Don’t wait too long before moving on to something else. This will only lead to no end of frustration and wasted time.

If it’s a struggle to get going on it, the words you think you could use just slip away when you try to put them down, or you keep changing them and they still don't make sense, it’s probably not a good idea. If you try plotting it out and it doesn’t really go anywhere, it probably never will.

If you’re unsure of an idea, run it by a friend whose opinion you trust. They might have insights on why it’s a bad idea.

Does this idea excite you? Make you want to sit at your desk for hours working away? Will there be an audience for it?

There’s an argument that there’s an audience for everything, even really bad ideas. So I guess the question you have to ask yourself is, what do you want to get out of this idea. Are you writing it for fun? For profit? Only you can decide if an idea is worth saving.

To help you find an idea, good or bad, here are a few of my favorite prompt generators:

Short Story Ideas  

RanGen 

Writing Prompt Generator 

Plot Generator 

Writing Exercises and Prompts 

Springhole 

Even a bad idea is better than no idea at all.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

Well, I was pretty much treading water, as far as writing went last week. But all things considered, it was a busy week so just keeping up is good enough for me.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1,603+579+473+648=3,303
Poetry – Poetry – 181 (included in blog post)

Total words: 3,303

Goals For Next Week:
Try and add in some extra words to that total.

EDITING:
3 pages
Yowsa! I had a lot of good intentions, where editing was concerned, but good intentions don’t produce pages. This is getting ridiculous! How long have I been editing this book now? I think it’s time to smarten up and aim for a Christmas release.

Goal For Next Week:
Step up the editing pace on Magickal Mayhem.

MARKETING:
*sigh* No Marketing. Yeah, I’m not even going there this time.

Goal For Next Week:
Submit two flash stories and one poem.

TECH & TRAINING:
Well, technically nothing new here, but I did get a message from Dropbox telling me the extra space I got when I bought my Lenovo (that I didn’t even know I had) was about to expire and what did I want to do about it. And then, just yesterday, I got a message from McAfee telling me my subscription was automatically renewed. You know, the subscription Staples screwed up so that I couldn’t access it so I paid for Avast instead. *sigh*

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out if I can make enough use out of Dropbox to warrant paying for it; figure out which virus protection I want to keep and get a refund for the other.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I shared an invented form, the Cascade, last week. It was a really interesting form to work with and I enjoyed working on my examples.

And I’m still contemplating a poetry anthology, or maybe that will be two – one of traditional forms, and one of non-traditional forms. Or maybe it’ll just be one anthology of all forms, and I’ll divide into two sections. Or maybe alternate traditional with non-traditional. So many poems to choose from.

Goal For Next Week:
Find a new form to share and figure out the anthology.

CRAFTING:
I finished the pansies on the first of my pillowcases and I picked out the colours for the border. Then I realized that the border is too faint to see in some places. I didn’t want to cut up the original transfer and mess it up for future use, so I traced the parts I’d need onto tracing paper, and then went over it (from the back) with a transfer pencil.

Then the next problem popped up. In embroidering the pansies, I altered the structural integrity of the pillowcase. In other words, I can’t just lay the transfer overtop and have everything line up properly. I’m going to have to do it one section at a time. So . . . I think I’ll embroider as much as the border as I can, then iron on the remaining one section at a time, embroidering as I go along.

Once again I did not get the sewing machine set up and working again, so I did not get my skirt and blouse finished. And now I’ve got some hemming from my father-in-law to add to the mix. Not to mention there are a couple of other skirts I’ll love to make for fall. *sigh*

I did make some progress on the cancer afghan, and I figured out a better colour scheme for it without having to rip out anything I’ve done so far. AND I visited the yarn shop and found some beautiful variegated yarn to make a sweater to go with my skirt (if I ever get it finished). So that will be my next TV needlework project.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep working on the pillowcase. Work on the cancer afghan. Get the sewing machine working and finish my skirt and blouse.

WHAT I’M READING:
Still haven’t updated my Goodreads account – I’m really going to hate myself when I finally get around to it.

Finished reading The Lost Girl Found. by Maisey Yates. It was an interesting blend of family and what the mind is capable of to protect itself. Loved the different personalities of the sisters and how even with the age differences they stayed close.

I actally went a couple of days without reading anything, but then yesterday I picked up Book Lovers by Emily Henry. This was recommended to me by my daughter and so far she hasn’t led me astray.

Goal For Next Week:
Suck it up and update my Goodreads account!

GOAL REVIEW:

No extra words, but I did get all my regular words done, and like I said earlier, it was a busy week so that’s not too bad. But I did try spreading things out a little more – a bit here and a bit there, and I think that’s how I managed to keep on top of everything.

No tech or training, but I confess I did spend a little more time on mindless games than I’d like. And I forgot all about the shredding I keep promising myself I’m going to do.

The craft room project is on hold until we’re ready for a dump run – there’s not much I can do in there until I’m able to get rid of the futon parts and some of the other bigger, useless stuff. I am hoping to take a load of donations to the thrift store this week – mostly clothes and books. Yes, that’s right. Books!

I should probably start writing down some of my plans so I can prioritize them. And on that note, I was considering going back to lists to help clarify what I wanted to get done with other aspects of my life. I’ll start with a master list of everything I need/want to get done and work from there. At the very least, maybe it’ll be a reminder of what I can be doing instead of playing mindless games.

Happy writing.

The Pond – Part 5

Very little changed for Izolda, save that now her free time was spent slipping away down to the caves by the river. If it was discovered what she was doing, it would not go well for either of them. Varnya was not part of the family and as such Izolda had no business in her company.

As for Varnya . . . Izolda’s family had little tolerance for outsiders. It was one thing for sons to learn the art of magic, but such a thing was not to be tolerated in daughters. Especially learning from outsiders who practiced what they considered the dark arts.

So Izolda went about her daily tasks as though nothing untoward was happening during her free time. She still did the tasks set her, no matter how menial, and she still spent time with her brother, Matyei, although he was developing his own interests. Around the fire at night she kept her silence, listening intently to the aunts and grannies as they gossiped and told their stories.

One night at the end of summer, when the leaves were just starting to turn, Izolda’s Aunt Anya, who rarely spoke, had news to share. “Svetlana from the village Bakal had news to share when I took her herbs from the garden,” she said.

While the some of the women looked at her expectantly, Izolda kept her attention on the stitching she was doing.

“They believe a Rusalka has infested the caves near the river.”

There were gasps from several women,

“What’s a Rusalka?” Izolda asked.

“It is an ancient evil,” Polina, another aunt, answered.

“They say she has already lured Dimitri, Sasha’s son, to his death. His body was found washed up on the riverbank – it could not have been an accident, he was a strong swimmer.”

Anya waited for the murmurs to die down before she continued. “Luka and Yuri swear they have seen a woman with long, dark, unbound hair near the river, where no woman should be.”

Izolda’s needle slipped, and pierced her thumb. With a gasp, she put her thumb in her mouth to suck the blood. Varnya had long, dark hair, and she never wore it bound up as most women did. But she was not this evil spirit, it was just an ugly coincidence.

“We must warn our men to stay away from the river,” Olga stated firmly. “Until this spirit has been dealt with.”

“But where did this Rusalka come from?” Izolda dared to ask.

Polina shrugged. “She could not have come from Bakla, they would have known if a woman killed herself or was drowned. It would have been easy for them to put her unclean spirit to rest. For her to be able to leave the place where she began means she must be very powerful.”

“Banishing a Rusalka is a difficult thing,” Ulyana, Izolda’s grandmother, said gravely.

“Yes,” Anya agreed. “It has been a long time since there has been need of a banishing ritual, but their babki is quite powerful.”

“They say if you can find her comb of fish bones and break it, you can break the curse she’s under,” said Yana.

“But first you would have to discover the cave where she lives,” pointed out Polina.

“It matters not where she came from or who she was,” Ulyana stated firmed. “She needs to be dealt with.”

Izolda wanted to ask more questions about the Rusalka, but held back. Speaking out would only draw attention to herself. But she could ask Varnya about it. Varnya who wore her long dark hair unbound, and lived in the caves near the river. Varnya who had a beautiful comb made of bone.