Writing Group: The Power of a Name (PRIVATE)

May I have your name Summoners, Con artists, and Pastors?

What? I’m not going to steal it or anything! Why would you ever think that! No, no, I just want your name—I mean, I want you to TELL me your name—because…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

The Power of a Name

Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

This is a very rich prompt, full of opportunities for strange magic, and very real messages. 

The first angle my brain goes to is the fae. Perhaps you want to tell a story of someone encountering a fae, and facing the consequences of their name being stolen. Or maybe you want to write about someone cunningly avoiding this fate—not lying (mustn’t lie to a fey) but not telling the truth either. 

Maybe you have another sort of magical creature in your universe with the ability to deal in names. Maybe your character walks up to the name dealer in the market to see their coat full of names—and you don’t want to ask where they got them. Maybe a fortune teller can read your destiny in your name—or perhaps even shape it by reshaping your name. Maybe when a witch calls you by a certain name, that name becomes a spell—it becomes you. 

But magic isn’t the only way a name might have power. In the live action Cinderella, “Ella” is her real name, but her stepmother and stepsisters call her “Cinderella” as a degrading name. One of my favorite lines from the movie is: “Names have power, like magic spells. And of a sudden it seemed to her that her stepmother and stepsisters had indeed transformed her into merely a creature of ash and toil.” There’s no true magic involved in this scene, but the name has power over her still. The name grants extra power to the abuse she suffers; her identity has been stripped away; she is no longer the noble Ella her parents cared for. She has become a thing of cinders. Perhaps you want to write about this sort of thing. What happens when a parent, stepparent, sibling, uncle, etc—someone who is meant to love you—gives you a name like this? What happens when they pretend you are family, but call you by a name that is anything but? What happens when the true name your parent or guardian gives you is something cruel? 

Bullies are one of the most common people groups that use cruel nicknames. In Before I Fall, the cruel nickname that Lindsey gives to Juliet starts off a chain reaction that continues through the years, eventually leaving Juliet suicidal. There were many other cruel things Lindsey (and others) did to Juliet, but it was that name that started everything, and that name that Juliet always returns to in her mind. This is a very real struggle that lots of people, especially those in high school, might face today. Bullies are quick to give out mocking names, but what are the consequences of that? Does the name have more power than the insults, spitballs and wedgies? I think it usually does. Do you want to tell the perspective of someone hurt by a nickname? Or of the bully who doesn’t really know what they’re doing?

You could play with titles vs names. Someone might be “King” but that’s a title, not a name. Maybe someone in a position of power feels like nobody knows who they really are—no one really calls them by their name. Or perhaps the opposite—maybe someone only wants to be known for their title, either because they want the power of it…or maybe they just don’t like their name. It makes me think of Dumbledore and Harry specifically calling Voldemort “Tom Riddle.” They use his name to disarm him, to refuse to give him the power the title grants him. 

Especially when it comes to kings, names can be inherited. Does your character feel pressure in having the same name as their parent, or ancestor? Do they wish they had a different name? Or are they proud to share the name? Or maybe they are named after a particular historical figure—what power does this connection have over their life?

Surnames are always inherited, and perfectly worthy of this prompt. Perhaps you want to write about a family name, the responsibility or reputation that comes with it. Or perhaps the pride and familiarity that comes with it. 

Sometimes a vicious-looking beast is given a silly name, such as Adam naming his hellhound “Dog,” or Hagrid naming his three-headed dog “Fluffy.” Perhaps you want to write about this phenomenon. Does this silly name have some power over the creature to make it more docile? There’s also the opposite, like a teacup poodle being called “Bruiser.” Can a name grant strength, or ferocity, to an otherwise docile creature?

A name also reflects upon the person giving the name. To Hagrid, monsters are indeed sweet, misunderstood creatures. He gave Fluffy that name because that’s exactly how he saw Fluffy…as a fluffy dog. Perhaps, instead of writing about the person with the name, you want to write about the person doing the naming. Maybe your character recognizes that names have power, and doesn’t want to mess up naming their child, or pet, or favorite stapler. 

There’s also a scientific aspect to naming as well. Perhaps you want to write about a scientist who discovered a new species trying to decide on a name. Things in science often are named after the person who discovered it. Does this person get a big head? Or dislike being a namesake? I was reading about Dyson Spheres recently, and apparently Dyson did not like that they were named after him. Maybe you want to write about this. You could even write a funny story about a difficult to pronounce name, especially in a scientific environment. 

There’s also a common principle “Don’t name it. If you name it you’ll get attached.” You could easily write about this angle. Maybe you want to write about a child forming a friendship with a stray animal, and indeed getting attached when they name it. Or even about a grumpy person who thinks they don’t want kids getting attached to an orphan they met. 

Even inanimate objects can be named. Often when we name inanimate objects we anthropomorphize them and give them personality, simply because we gave them a name. This could be a very fun and cute thing to write about. Does an inanimate object come alive, simply because it was given a name? 

In the movie “The Man Who Invented Christmas” the characters come to life in Charles Dickens’ mind only when he finds a name for them. He can have ideas, tropes, plotlines, but they only appear as a person when they have a name. In this way, you could go very meta with this prompt—what’s your experience as a writer naming your characters? 

My challenge for this week is to use the word, or the idea of, “Fireworks” somewhere in the story. This is inspired by it being the week of Fourth of July for Americans. But not all of you (perhaps even most of you) aren’t from America, so I didn’t want to use the holiday as a prompt. Fireworks are a key, fun, summery aspect of the holiday that I think would be fun to work into our stories this week. You could write your story about fireworks, or simply mention them briefly. Whatever you want! 

In case that’s too mired in the holiday, my other challenge for you is not to use the words “name” and/or “power” anywhere in your story. (You can pick one or do both). Yes, you heard me: write about the power of a name…all the while, not actually using the words “name” and/or “power” anywhere. Play around with subtlety. Make sure the prompt is still clear, of course—that’s very important. But don’t directly use the prompt—don’t even directly mention the pieces of the prompt! 

Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!

Ah, I see. So that’s your name. Let me just add it to my collection—I mean memory!


Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

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jesse fisher
jesse fisher
2 months ago

Power Word
By Jesse Fisher

Calm down, calm down, just breathe.

Focus on the objective.

Nothing else.

You know what it is called.

Speak it.

But the word was caught in my throat, my mind knew it but my voice could not carry it. Hacking and coughing showed I could still vocalize but I could not do it.

There was a test on using true names at the end of the month and the list was easy to recall but something kept keeping me from spitting it out.

Research into the history of true names turned into a biography of the first person to bring this form of magic to the world. There was debate on this as it got complicated when the true name was spoken; anyone can claim it as their own.

The rabbit hole kept going deeper and deeper until a word came from my mouth.


My ears ringed from the power of the word as the pile of books and papers began to move and shift as the word began to make the chaos organized.

To say my throat hurts from just this one word given form when not prepared.

The dryness and scratchiness of my throat grew, I almost thought I would collapse from the drain of the word.

It was only then that I noticed the water that we must use to regain my voice after working on this assignment.

The moment I reached for the liquid another word came to mind.


The small torrent of water came from the vessel straight to my mouth.
It was only a brief moment but at that moment I had drowned myself.

At this point I was starting to question ever using this power.

2 months ago

Names To Run Away From (Chronicles Of The Dragon)
By Makokam

Eddie walked into the bar and went to sit down next to his friend Vinny. “Did you hear?” he asked. “There’s word The Dragon is in the city.”

Vinny set his drink down and pulled some bills and set them on the bar. “I’ve been thinking about taking the girlfriend for a weekend in the mountains. Now seems like a good time.” He got up and headed for the door.

“Wait, you’re going NOW now? You don’t think he’d be interested in hunting down some old fucks like us, do you?”

“We didn’t get to be old fucks without being cautious.”


Terrence got out of the car and headed into the warehouse. On the far side, Rafiel paced behind a truck, looking at his phone while two other men stood watch.

“Ah man, I was worried you wouldn’t be here,” Terrence said, jogging over.

“Why?” Rafiel said, looking up.

“There’s a rumor The Dragon is in town.”

Rafiel stiffened, then grabbed a paper wrapped package out of the truck. “You got the money?”

Terrence nodded as he hurried to hand a couple wads of cash in exchange for the package.

“Good, now get the hell out of here.” He turned and motioned to the other men. “Pack it up! We’re getting the hell outta here.”


The General watched the screens as they updated with the latest positions of his troops as they moved towards the boarder. A slow build up of his forces to where they could quickly cross the boarder, but were far enough away to plausibly deny their threat. Their “neighbors” would be brought back into the fold after twenty long years very, very soon.

An officer rushed in, holding out an envelope. “Sir, the latest intelligence report-”

The General snatched the report and gave it a quick glance, before stopping at a single line. He turned to the officer. “Is this accurate?”

“Multiple sources confirm the sighting.”

The General tore the report apart. “Send everyone back to their bases. If The Dragon is here, this is no time to start a war.”

2 months ago


2 months ago

By Partran

“Pronunciation matters.”

“So you’ve said.” Lawrence muttered from where he lay, face down, against a distressingly fleshy floor.

A small mercy that had arisen in the hours he’d been in this strange place was that his shoulders had gone numb. If only he were fortunate enough to have his hips join them, then his position of being trussed up with his arms and legs behind his back would be far more tolerable.

As he lay there helpless, in the all-pervading crimson gloom of the place his linguistic shortcomings had trapped him, he turned to once again look at the creature that kept him company in this small, humid room.

To say it was a strange creature would be a statement of the obvious. It was perhaps a meter tall, lanky, with mostly bare skin save odd patches of long, wiry hair on its knees and elbows. It possessed the expressive face and head of a startlingly ugly dog. Despite its aesthetic shortcomings, though, it had a pleasant voice and an almost genial demeanor.

“There wasn’t a pronunciation guide. How was I to know how many of the letters were meant to be silent? What madmen created silent letters, anyway?!”

The creature, whose name Lawrence had thought was pronounced “Oopszslashkintintizz,” squatted in a comfortable manner. With a tilt of its head and a chuckle it said, “You’re not far off. It really is some of our sides’ greatest work. Subtle, irritating, and utterly devastating in the right spots.”

“But why?”

The creature considered for a moment, picking at a space between its sharp teeth with an equally sharp talon, “Well, for one, it pries unwary and incautious fools like you from your home dimension and drops you into ours, and, for two, it’s really, really funny. The best part was when the smart people in your world started doing it to themselves, without our interference. I mean, Pthalate? Mnemonic? Psychic? Social inertia does so much of our work for us, really.”

“So… what happens next?”

The genial smile on the creature melted seamlessly into an unpleasant grin, “Consequences, Lawrence. Consequences.”

2 months ago

Audition Day
By MasaCur

Nabiki entered the orchestra club room, clutching her violin case to her chest. Beside her, Chiyo hefted her cello case by the shoulder straps.

Nabiki could feel the eyes on her as she entered. Curious, judging, contemptuous. Most of the people looking at her didn’t glance away when she looked at them.

They knew who she was.

A tall, older girl stepped in front of her.

“You’re Nabiki Teion, aren’t you?” the girl asked.

Nabiki looked up at her. “Ye-yeah.”

“You’re not taking my seat from me.” She glared down at Nabiki. “I don’t care who your mother is, I worked hard for the first chair violin. I’m not going to lose it to you.”

“I…uh, as far as I’ve heard, first year students aren’t eligible for the first chair,” Nabiki said, hoping to deescalate the situation.

The girl pointed two fingers at her eyes, then turned her hand to point at Nabiki before she walked away.

Nabiki clutched her violin case tighter to her chest.

“Nabiki, don’t let it get to you,” Chiyo said. “They’re just trying to get into your head and knock you off your game. You’re definitely going to make your audition. Not because your mom is Akane Teion. You’ll do it because you’re an awesome violinist in your own right.”

“I hope so,” Nabiki replied. She bit her lip nervously.

“Me, I’m less sure of,” Chiyo added.

“Mom says you’re a pretty good cellist.”

“Nabiki Teion? Is there a Nabiki Teion here?” asked a voice from the seating area.

Nabiki took a deep breath.

“Good luck!” Chiyo winked and held up two fingers in a peace sign.

“Thanks.” Nabiki let out her breath in a sigh. She pulled out the Klotz violin, and stepped toward the microphone. “I’m Nabiki Teion.”

“Your mother is Akane Teion?” asked the school’s orchestra director.

Nabiki nodded.

“First time I saw her play was in ninety-five for her Summer Breeze tour.”

Nabiki looked down at the stage floor. “That was her breakout album.”

“If you’ve got even half her talent, you’ll do fine. Just relax and do your best.”

Last edited 2 months ago by MasaCur
2 months ago

Credit Where It’s Due (Students of the DiamondBridge Academy universe)
by Carrie (Glaceon373)

“Who are you visiting?”

Mrs. Tizip checked the crumpled note in her hand. “Uh, room A107—”

“Take a right, fourth door on the left,” the hospital receptionist answered immediately.

Tizip thanked the receptionist and almost ran to Room A107.

She knocked on the door. “Mrs. Tizip. May I come in?”

There was a second before she heard a weak but happy “Yes?”

Tizip opened the door and gasped. But not for the reasons she’d expected to.

The tiny room was stuffed with people. Sam and Ahna had the only provided guest chairs, while Jidz, Cypress, and Feleron sat on the floor. And, of course, Roselyn was in the hospital bed.

All six of them were working on homework.

“…Hello,” was all Tizip could think of to say.

“Haven’t seen you in a few hours,” Sam quipped. It made Roselyn laugh, even if weakly.

“I thought they limited guests to… less than six?” Tizip squeezed through the door so she could close it all the way.

Feleron explained: “Well, Jidz and I are officially visitors, Ahna’s observing the doctors for her final project for Spellcasting, Sam shows up so much the staff stopped caring about her, and I think Cypress just sneaks in.”

They all nodded their confirmation.

“And if the nurses try to kick them out,” Roselyn added, “I remind them that we’re the six students who saved the school. Now I’ll just add ‘and teacher’ to that.”

Tizip blinked. “T-teacher?”

“Yeah. You?”

She tried to take a step back. “Please, you did all the hard work. The dangerous work. I did—”

“A lot,” Cypress stated with such finality that the whole room felt compelled to agree.

“… Oh.” Tizip found herself reaching for the door handle.

“Y’know,” Ahna shrugged, “people keep wanting to give US awards, maybe we could arrange one for you?”

“Yeah!” Jidz nodded. “What kind of award would you like, Mrs. Tizip?”

“I hear the school needs a new Vice Principal?” Sam asked.

“I— well— it was lovely seeing you all, have a great day!”

Tizip bolted from the room, followed by a chorus of laughter.

2 months ago

you can’t make a gold-lead alloy without cracking software
by Aracnarquista

The feeling of fear is not something Richard LaCroix is used to. Dreading is for others, not him. Richard LaCroix wields fear. CEO of the Zenith Corporation and major shareholder of some of the more significant corporate conglomerates, Mr. LaCroix handles economic and political leverage as a weapon or threat as the need calls for. No one dares to cross him.

LaCroix feels no fear.

Yet, there is a ghost haunting him. He notices the signals of the guards of his secluded vacation home going silent one by one, and he knows despair. Someone is hunting him. His mind rushes to the other weapons one with his wealth could use…


Walt Whitman may as well sing the body electric, but “John” is the one who dances to its tune. Every fiber of his augmented body is aflame as he breezes through the security. Automated defenses fail to detect his passage. Guards are neutralized with precision and grace. Every motion of the assassin is a sight to behold – though those who catch as much as a glimpse of him have few moments to register it.

“John” flows in the moment. He enjoys the craft, the vertigo and exhilaration of moving unseen and being where he is denied to be. The melody of violence – carefully suppressed as it is – sounds like music to his augmented ears. The synthetic reflexes that guide his movements – cybernetically tuned, ironically enough, in a Zenith lab – rejoice in being put to action. The electric signals shared through wire and nerves explode as fireworks and light the night of his life as he snuffs the lives of wealth’s lap dogs.

He doesn’t kill indiscriminately, though.

Precision is what he sells, and collateral damage is best avoided.


“I know you have a busy schedule, Mr. LaCroix. But now you have a meeting with a certain Gentleman John, Death’s own amanuensis.”

LaCroix faces the barrel of a ceramic pistol and his own mortality. He still has two tricks up his sleeve. Especially now that he knows who the killer is.

“Whatever they are paying you, I can overbid them.”

Once a deal is cut, “John” never go back on his word. LaCroix knew that. But uttering that proposal gave him the time needed to activate the killswitch codeword that would make the assassin’s implants to betray him and leave him paralyzed.

Some problems are best suited for violent ends… and it is a good thing that “John”, or Snakebite, as he was known at the time, had once been in Zenith’s payroll. What Zenith gives, Zenith can take away.

The code was sent. “John” smiles. A smile he should not be able to flash – still, despite the killswitch, he smiles. That smile – Death’s own grin mocking LaCroix for overbetting and coming short -, the last thing Richard ever sees. Snakebite’s arm is massaged by the gentle caress of pistol recoil.

Last edited 2 months ago by Aracnarquista
2 months ago

The Devil is in the Details

I was the King Beneath before the war. I witnessed the deaths of Titania and Oberon. The gods knew me and never interfered with my domain. My minions never questioned my orders.

My Mephistopheles was appointed carefully. I knew he would never usurp me, as he was prone to sloth. He would remain prince as long as I remained king.

I lurked in the shadows, ready with gifts for those who would ask, for a price. My reign was glorious and full of splendor. I never wanted it to end.

I was Underlord during the reign of the final Prodigy. I ascended from the Mephistopheles title after the war, and would never appoint a prince to succeed me. My daughter was set for my succession, but even then, plans changed.

My reign was precarious and constantly challenged, but it would not end until I gave it my permission. No Angel or Demon or Hero could usurp me, even if they believed they had. All I had to do was wait. I had plenty of time.

Many had questioned my viability as Underlord. There was not a single council in the Hells, Heavens, or beyond that didn’t think they could find a suitable replacement for me. But try as they might, I could not be dethroned. I would not allow it. It had to be the right time.

I am the Ruler of the Hells after the Worldflame. I became one with the Hell Dragon to become War. Death is my brother, Famine a cousin, and Pestilence a close friend.

I upended the tyranny of my sister. I brought the last war to an end, and brought about the dawn of a new era. I witnessed the births and deaths of kings and kingdoms the likes of which the world has never imagined.

I am War; my reign is young. I know not how long I will last, or if I will be eternal. But I will do what is needed no matter the end.

Long life to the King, the Underlord, the Ruler, and War.

2 months ago

A Power Stolen
by Gerrit (Rattus)

Pain shot up Aila’s thighs as she was forced to kneel, her knees colliding hard with the ground. The two soldiers holding her wrists maintained an iron grip, their free hands holding their swords crossed in front of her throat.

“You have betrayed not just the Seelie Court, but the entire realm of the fae,” Queen Titania began. “Your thirst for power and propensity for violence will see the ruin of us. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Aila raised her head just enough to meet the Queen’s gaze. “I am merely trying to protect the world, something you clearly don’t care enough to do. You’re happy to hide away in your court and let the world of the mortals crumble, unaware, or perhaps willfully ignorant, that the fae realm would be next.”

She felt the blades at her throat press tighter. She didn’t flinch. They would need to try a lot harder if they wanted to intimidate her.

“If the evils come to our doorstep, then I shall protect my people,” the Queen said. “Until then, I will not waste precious lives and resources against a threat that is not ours.”

“So you’re content to doom every last mortal to death, simply because you can’t be bothered to step in?”

Queen Titania waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had enough of this. I will allow you one final word, Aila, before I pass down your sentence.”

Aila smiled. She had been waiting for this moment. Her final word was not of any language known. It was the gentle whispering of wind through the valley. It was the patter of spring rain. It was the rustling of autumn leaves as they tumbled to the ground.

Fear exploded into the Queen’s eyes, prompting Aila’s smile to widen. She wondered how long it had been since the Queen heard her true name.

Laura Nettles
Laura Nettles
2 months ago

Laura Nettles
326 Words

Dual moons hung low in the twilight sky, dancing smoke rising from the ceremony fire twisted in patterns to be divined. The young one knelt next to the flickering flames, Elder Wisdom painting designs along their naked skin.

“Worried?” the elder asked the soon to be initiated.

The young one flicked their fingers towards the sky in affirmation, the mute language of children.

“You are strong. Your name will find you.” Weathered fingers dipped back into the bowl of paint, before tracing sacred symbols that had been revealed by the Fire of Creation in the beginning of time. Lines bent, doubled back, and overlapped in ways that revealed the meaning of life if one was enlightened enough.

Elder Family approached, anointing the initiate’s head with soot saved from the fire that had burned bright at the time of their birth. “It is time.”

Shivers wracked the young one, but he stood tall. The heat of the flickering fire intensified. Smoke twisted downward, caressing the child on the verge of adulthood.

They needed to take a step. To trust the Knower of All Things. To walk into the towering flames and claim their name. Have it fill their mouth and seep into their very essence. Unlock their tongue and bestow purpose.

They took a breath and stepped.

The warmth of a womb engulfed them, reds and oranges of the conflagration morphing to the hues of eclipsed celestial bodies. Colors they had never seen up close alighted along the painted lines on the surface of their skin before sinking deep. Sparks exploded in wonderous displays. The soot marking on their head tingled in recognition. Acceptance.

“My child…” came a whisper. “Your name shall be…”

The young one held their breath, entire body a world of nearly-painful tingles.
Darkness shattered the fire, warmth and enlightenment fleeing.

A shadowed voice boomed from the center of the ceremony circle. Child-speak finger flicks now gone, the adult pronounced: “My name is Destruction.”

2 months ago

He’s a Radical Rat
By Marx

“I don’t get it!” Matt growled, sitting back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just want to free them! That’s all! But every time… every SINGLE time I free a muse, they insist on serving me!”

Laila flashed Matt a bemused grin. “You want to know why that keeps happening?”

“Enlighten me. Please.”

“So… imagine, for a moment, that you’re human. Captured by evil whatevers and kept in a cell for years upon years. Then one day the cell door just… opens. And when you look outside, you see that your cell has an electric panel and a rat chewed through it. Would you feel appreciation to the rat?”

Matt paused to think about it. “Of course.”

“Would you feel the need to pay the rat back?”

“Well… no. It’s a rat. Even if I tried to, it would just run away.”

“Bingo!” Laila said with a laugh. “Now, rewind. Your cell door opens, but this time it’s another human. One actively freeing you and showing you how to escape. What changes?”

“I’d be absolutely indebted to them. And if they needed anything from me, I’d be there for them. But that’s not the same as–“

“Rewind,” Laila interrupted. “This time your cell door opens and it’s me. You don’t know me. And when I say it’s me, I mean…” Standing up, Laila spread her arms wide, unleashing her glowing, feathered wings, bathing the room in her holy light.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Okay… Okay, I get it. So, the problem is me, specifically.”

“You’re the horseman of Death. Everything you do is with the power and authority of that title.”

“So… I need a rat…”

Laila threw back her head in a loud laugh. “What goes into freeing a muse? You overpower their captor. You free the muse. Then you literally go into their minds and give them the equivalent of magical therapy for their trauma.

“You could try to use a ‘rat’. But returning to the analogy, it would be a holy rat who you’d know was serving under a higher power.”


2 months ago

Is Who We Are Who We’re Meant to Be? (A Song for: ???)
by Lunabear

The little girl watched the man, the one who’d introduced her to this new life a few short weeks ago. Standing atop a grassy knoll, proud and unencumbered, he looked over the horizon. The sinking sun cast a crimson glow to his charcoal-colored skin. He resembled, at least to her, stirring ashes in a fire. Something that could burn itself out if left unattended.

He set his eyes upon her, and she stilled. Breath didn’t seize her lungs. The sluggish organ in her chest almost beat thrice.

His smile bloomed, full and warm. “Ah! Awake at last. I was sure this sleep would be eternal for you.” He beckoned her with a curl of his fingers.

A sliver of unpleasantness dripped down her spine, but she pushed it away, limping forward. The break should heal with one more daysleep, he’d promised. The night surrounding them was loud, rhythmic. Frogs croaked from a distance, crickets chirped, fireflies, or lightning bugs as they were called here, signaled to potential mates. They seemed almost like tiny fireworks.

“Can you picture it, Newling?” he inquired. Spreading his arm in front of him, he indicated the field of flowers and grass before them.

Her gaze, however, was drawn instinctually to the stars above.
She allowed his words to sink in, nodding without truly comprehending what ‘it’ was.

“A vision for your future, little one. You shall be unmatched, a marvel for the ages, modeled after your progenitor, of course.” A crooked smile displayed his sharpened fangs. His knee touched the green blades, and a heavy hand fell onto her shoulder. “You understand what needs to be done before we continue, yes?”

“Forget who I was and embrace who I’m going to become.” The words were stated on autopilot.

“And have you?” Sugarcane lacquered his question, but underneath was granite.

Who she was before, that human girl, lingered within the darkest parts of her. She doubted it would ever be different. She looked down at her polished black shoes. “Yes.” The lie left a rancid aftertaste.

“Good,” he purred. “We shall decide who you are now.”

Last edited 2 months ago by Lunabear