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Post by » ѕнαdσω ⚔️ on Dec 22, 2017 21:39:42 GMT -5
Chapter 1: Neveria Frostborn
"Yeah, Remember when you wanted to forget me?
You'd let me, rest in pieces and let the rest piece me together."
- "Monster" by Jacob Banks
Snow whipped past in a frenzy, shaking the tops of the evergreen pines and leaving behind claws of ice on the branches. The once graceful birch trees were no more than icy skeletons, their pale bark tinted a faint blue from the frozen water collected on their trunks.
It was a devastating storm; a kind of storm that the established clans called a White Death. It was named such because of the way clan-folk would get stranded in the storm, and would never come out. It would only be after the snow stopped falling that their bodies would be discovered, and from the end of their hair to the tips of their toes, they would be encased in a hard mesh of crystallized ice and pure white snow.
It was during this White Death that a group of warriors from the clan of Maris was trekking back to their camp sheltered beneath a towering pillar of marble and granite in the mountain side. The fabrics of their animal pelts were already icing over, and their eyes and noses stung from the torrential wind. If they did not make it to the camp quickly, they would soon obtain Stella’s Kiss, a painful freezing of their very flesh that leaves no warmth behind. The condition was named after Stella Maris, their ancestral clan chieftain, who was rumored to have been born during a White Death and had blue marks all over her body when she was born, as if she had been kissed by the cold storm itself.
No warrior of any of the clans inside the valley corridor would stop under any circumstances during an oncoming White Death, but one Maris man did, his broad shoulders stiffening as, over the howling of the wind, an echoing wail sailed on the snowflakes flying around him.
He held up his arm, his trembling hand slowly closing in a tight fist. It was a sign for the other men behind him to halt.
The other Maris men stopped hesitantly, for they hadn’t heard the wail on the wind. Maybe they had, but didn’t want to give it any attention, for they were more concerned with getting themselves to the safety of their camp than rescuing some poor bastard that had been unlucky enough to be caught in the White Death.
But the man who held a steady fist in the cold wintry air was not so ill at ease. His eyes were just as cold as the storm around him, but he lacked its harshness and cruelty. He would find who had wailed in this storm. Not for glory, not for curiosity, and not even for the Valley Compact, a peace treaty forged between the four mighty clans hundreds of years ago. No. This man would save that poor bastard because he was simply bored.
He let his men decide whether to follow him or not as he turned away from their path and trudged into the knee-high snow, the wind and ice quickly swallowing him up in a white mist more unforgiving than the very waters they used for their clan’s survival.
None of his fellow clansmen followed him.
. . .
The warriors trained ears led him into a thick cluster of birch wood, the icy, pale, ashen trunks contrasting brightly against the man's umber brown skin. Not much of it was exposed, save his broad, rounded cheeks and calloused hands. He wore a thick grey cloth around his neck and face that covered his chin, lips, and nose, but his breath could still be easily seen as clouds of white before him.
Once again, the snow carried the sound of a wail. The wail was much softer and lower than the one before, as if the person who had unleashed it was holding back, afraid of attracting the wrong attention.
The broad shouldered warrior slowly released a large weathered hatchet from his back, gripping it lightly in his hand. He was also prepared for the wrong attention. He had known of ghostly tricksters who would cry and wail in a White Death to lead even seasoned clans-men such as himself astray. But somehow he knew this was no trick. He wouldn't have come to cure his aching boredom and disinterest if he thought it wasn't worth his time.
And there, finally, in the thickest part of the skeleton trees, was the source of the wailing.
He paused, gripping his weapon tighter, but lowering it to his side, his pale blue eyes widening.
Seated in the snow drift were two young children. One was no more than a newborn, and the other a young girl just barely past her fourth year. The elder of the two was cradling the newborn in her arms with a pale cornflower dress wrapped as a makeshift blanket around it. The cheeks of the newborn were rosy red, and she slept without discomfort, as if the storm around them was nothing more than a warm summer breeze.
But the girl, the one who held the baby in her arms, was hunched protectively over the body of the child, her arms, legs and face exposed to the White Death. It was against her ivory flesh that the markings of Stella's Kiss turned her into a canvas of blues, indigo's, and purple's. Every marking was like a blooming winter flower, just waiting for more ice and wind to grow even brighter.
She did not shiver, even though most humans twice her age would have already died with that many kisses on their skin. No. She dared to glare into the very maw of the storm, waiting for death.
It was her eyes that had the Maris man raising his hatchet again, his gaze tightening with wariness.
They were like molten steel pouring out of a forge, but they sparked and glimmered like moonlight striking the surface of the Lonely Lake. They were otherworldly, and they were not human.
"Who are you girl?" The warrior demanded, his boredom wiped clean by this strangest of discoveries.
The girl did not take her silver eyes off of the building winter storm, though she did speak, her voice no more than a husky whisper.
"Unwanted."
The warrior sighed in frustration, hastily re-quipping his hatchet to his back and striding toward the girl in the snow. He had seen children left abandoned in the forest before, their parents unable to feed them as the valley was too harsh to raise such a precious gift.
"What was the name given to you?" He spat, an urgency beginning to take him. He knew even he didn't have much time left out here, but he had to get this frozen girl and the newborn to safety.
"Never..." she murmured, her throat contracting with the effort of speech. Her lips were cracked, and dried blood stained her chin.
The warrior knelt before the child, keeping an arm's length distance between himself and her. "What kind of a name is that?" He inquired, wincing as a cold blast of wind whipped against his hood.
"Never...I was never given a name," she explained. She hugged her dark cloak around her and the baby, the metal clasp on the right shoulder depicting an eye with flames around it.
The warrior had never seen anything like it, but he decided to shove it aside. It would be dealt with later.
"Come with me," the man said, holding out his hand for the girl to take.
Slowly, the girl's inhuman eyes glided over to his pale blue, her gaze filled with hesitation and calculation. She looked down at his hand, then back up at his face, then lowered her gaze to the newborn in her arms. It was there that her eyes briefly shivered with a feathered gentleness, her delicate hand lifting to caress the baby's cheek, her purple finger tips trembling, as if she was more afraid of hurting the baby than of which fingers she might loose from so much exposure.
"We don't have much time, girl. Take my hand or stay here," the Maris man said sternly, but softly.
She awakened from her pondering, her almond shaped eyes narrowing as she reached out and gripped the warrior's hand with surprising strength, his grip swallowing hers.
The man winced in shock as he felt the young girl's skin. It was warm, much warmer than what should be possible. That was why the baby looked so unharmed and unmarked by Stella's Kiss. The girl had been warming the newborn with her embrace while her flesh was overtaken by frost.
Without a word, the clansmen lifted the girl into his arms, shielding her with his animal pelt and turning and walking away from the clearing of skeleton birch trees. He grunted with each step he made through the snow drifts, but he did not stop, taking strength from the white-haired, frost bitten girl who put out enough warmth to melt the icy indifference in his heart.
"Neveria," he said, looking straight ahead into the storm, "your name will be Neveria."
Chapter 2: Thieves and Beasts
"Smart ass little girl, always on the run. Playin' with fire and daddy's gun
Fallin' in love on stolen wine. Where did we go wrong, my foolish child?"
- "Wear Me Out" by Skylar Grey20 Years Later
The Marketplace
“Hey, you get back here with that bread!”
Peals of mischievous laughter echoed in the springtime air. The wind was heavy with moisture rising from the melting glaciers, and the mountains shyly hid their majestic forms behind towers of mist and fog. While the sun still beat down upon the thawed ground, illuminating the quickly blooming tundra flowers, clouds still cast an almost melancholy aura upon the valley’s inhabitants.
But no grey day could deter a Maris clan member’s spirit. Especially the spirit that belonged to a Frostborn.
“Mother, wait up!”
Neveria halted, her silver eyes alight with an inner glowing happiness rarely seen. She reserved such looks for her young daughter: Snow.
“Thieves don’t wait, Snow, they run!” Neveria teased, bending down swiftly as her white-haired daughter came sprinting around the stone wall across from the bakery they had just been in. Snow didn’t notice her mother’s crouch until she was nearly upon her, and with a mighty roar, her mother scooped her up in her sturdy arms, flinging her over one shoulder as Snow squealed in delight and terror.
“Put me down, put me down!” She shrieked, giggling as Neveria jogged up a hill behind the crumbling wall that marked the edge of the market.
Snow was onto her seventh year, approaching the time when all other children her age began their training to become a member of their birth clan. She could choose the path that was expected of her: a healer, weaver, gatherer, provider, and in time a mother. Or she could choose the same path her mother did and become a Maris clan warrior, a protector of her people willing to spill blood in the name of her chieftain.
A small gust of wind ruffled the chin length white hair upon Neveria’s head, tickling Snow’s cheek, the color nearly matching that of Neveria's loose white shirt that was tucked into fitting brown leather pants. Her fur lined boots were covered in marks of mud, dirt, and grass, but she made sure the furs were at least brushed out, the grey of the rabbit pelt gleaming in the sun.
“Mother, won’t you tell me the story again?”
“Again?” Neveria gasped, all wide eyed and grinning ear to ear, “But it is the Maris Clan’s greatest dishonor!”
Snow whined, flailing her short arms as her mother carried her through a cluster of shimmering birch trees, “But it’s the best one!”
Neveria chuckled, taking the fresh loaf of bread they had stolen out of her sack hanging on her shoulder. She took a generous bite and then offered it up to her daughter, “Well the best stories usually are the most scandalous,” she mumbled through her mouthful of starch.
Snow accepted the gift of bread, smiling as she remembered the purple faced baker who had run out after them. The man had been too fat to even make it ten yards before giving up, nearly collapsing to the ground from exhaustion.
“Please, Mother? Just one more time before we go back to camp,” Snow pleaded, twirling her finger in her mother’s wispy hair, marveling at the softness.
Neveria sighed, gripping her daughter’s waist and hoisting her up from her shoulder and onto a boulder nestled in the hill. She then set her sack down in the grass and took a seat under the boulder, leaning her back up against its cool surface.
From their vantage point they could see most of the shoreline of the Lonely Lake, a large body of water that occupied the lowest point in the valley and marked the meeting point of all the clan’s territories. Around its lusher and better shaded shores was the market that was occupied by the un-pledged; the non-clans people. They made their living by trading with the clans, and keeping to themselves when hostilities between the clans rose.
Non-clans people made up most of the population in the valley, but held the least amount of power. The clans were revered, respected, and also feared for their trained warriors, superior knowledge of healing, and their strange beliefs in the realms that governed the state of their world and their very souls.
“So you want to hear the story about the founder of our clan?” Neveria asked with a humored glint in her eye, smiling as she felt her daughter’s feet on her shoulders from where they dangled off the boulder’s edge.
Snow nodded eagerly, leaning her elbows on her knees as she peered over the hillside and began nibbling on her stolen bread.
“Well,” Neveria began, “It was said that the first chieftain of our clan was the most cunning out of all the valley clan founders. She was the one who set the borders, and who strategically put her clan in the most fertile area in all the valley.”
“I know this, Mother!” Snow interrupted, waving her hand in the air, as if brushing off the boring parts of the story, “I want to hear the real good stuff. Like, you know, how our first chieftain was different from all the others because-”
“Because she was cursed,” Neveria said solemnly, pinching her daughter’s toe.
Snow squealed, pulling her feet up and tucking her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. The wind picked up again, playing with the cornflower dress that she wore, her long white hair falling in wild waves around her shoulders.
Neveria laughed, lifting her arms up behind her head and stretching out in the rare green grass, her moonstone eyes gleaming.
“Yes, she was cursed, and her name was Stella Maris.”
. . .
The Maris clan’s camp was situated up against the sheer walls of the Sister mountain, its pale granite surfaces sparkling under the sunlight. Like most clan camps, the living spaces were constructed from animal pelts and skins and wood; easily movable and easily replaced. The only solid standing structures belonged to the clan herbalist and the storage house that kept stone tablets and scrolls recording the clan’s history.
The main entryway which Neveria and her daughter passed under was made out of the same granite as the mountain face. Two great pillars stood ten feet apart with a giant slab resting on top. Hundreds of names had been carved into it, names belonging to the elite few who had become full-fledged warriors.
Neveria’s name was already chipped in alongside Drevor Maris’s name-currently the clan chieftain-the man who had saved her and her younger sister over twenty years ago from a White Death. Now, Neveria’s daughter, Snow, looked upon the granite entryway with a hunger in her silver eyes, eager to carve her name into the history of the Maris clan.
The fires were lit and slabs of meat were roasting on metal spikes, slowly being churned by several clansmen and women. Snow breathed in the different herbs and spices and aromas wafting up from the fires, her mouth salivating despite having just eaten stolen bread with her mother.
“Ah, Neveria. I was wondering if I was going to have to send your sister after you,” a deep voice greeted warmly.
Neveria turned with Snow still sitting on her shoulders to face the clan chieftain, Drevor Maris. His shoulder width, dark brown hair had been braided back with intricate, colorful beads woven in. He was still wearing his warrior garb: a mix of armor plates and leather work with a hatchet resting in a harness on his back.
Neveria smiled warmly. “Apologies, my chief. I promised Snow that I would spend some time with her today.”
Drevor waved his hand at her dismissively. “Please, call me Drevor if you’re not going to call me father,” he said, his voice hoarse but still strong. “Now hand over my granddaughter before my son comes back and steals away her attention.”
Neveria rolled her eyes with amusement as she lifted Snow from her shoulders and put her into the waiting arms of the Maris chieftain.
Snow giggled, wrapping her arms around Drevor’s neck and quickly examining the beautiful beads in his hair. “You look pretty tonight, grandfather,” she teased, tucking in a stray hair near the crown of his head.
Drevor smiled, squeezing the girl in his arms, his dark skin glistening with sweat from the fires. “Good. I need to be pretty for our guest tonight.”
Neveria crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a skeptical look. “Is she really coming?”
Snow turned in Drevor’s arms. “She who?” She asked excitedly.
Drevor squeezed Snow one last time before setting her on her feet, making sure her blue cornflower dress didn’t rip on his armor. “The treaty made with the other three clans was very specific; the Battle Mistress was to travel to each territory and train a handful of young upcoming warriors in order to show good faith,” he said.
Neveria sighed, running her hand through her white hair. “It doesn’t make much sense, and I still can’t find it in myself to believe that woman was the one to propose such a ludicrous idea.”
Snow’s eyes widened, her feet stamping in place in excitement. “The Battle Mistress of the Blackmore clan is coming here?” She squealed.
Neveria sighed again. “Yes, Snow. Your favorite hero in the entire world is coming to our camp, so you better be on your best behavior!”
Snow shrieked, making heads turn and laughs ring in the air.
Another person came walking through the stone pillars. A lean, long-limbed young boy with a fishing pole in his hand and a woven basket on his back. He was the spitting image of Drevor, minus the burly build and wrinkles.
“Malik! Perfect timing,” Drevor shouted, beckoning his son over. “Snow here is having a meltdown.”
Malik tilted his head, switching directions and trotting over the chieftain and the Frostborns.
“A meltdown?” Malik asked, his left eyebrow lifting sharply as he stared down at Snow who was pumping her fists into the air, practicing a few weak waist level kicks.
Neveria nodded to Malik with a knowing smile on her face. “She just found out that the Battle Mistress is coming tonight. Would you mind taking her with you while I help your father prepare?”
Malik, who was only twelve years old, was still several heads shorter than Neveria, so he tilted his chin up at her and grinned, reaching back for the basket on his back. “Sure, big sis, so long as you take these fish off of my hands.”
Neveria rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll take them to Idris. I’m sure she will appreciate some fresh fish, given that she is expecting twins any day now.”
Malik passed on the basket, making sure that the fish inside didn’t spill out. “Twins! I’d nearly forgotten. Your sister must be very happy. Tell her I said that she still owes me a new fur coat after she threw up on the last one.”
Neveria laughed, her head tilting back as she slugged the basket over her shoulder.
Malik leaned down and grabbed Snow’s wrist. “Come on, Snow. I got something cool to show you!”
The Battle Mistress forgotten, Snow stopped her kicks and stared up at Malik, her silver eyes gleaming. “Show me!”
Neveria shook her head as the two ran off, heading for the other end of the camp site.
Drevor chuckled, resting his hands on his hips. “You sure have your hands full there, Neveria.”
Neveria ran her hand through her hair, then straightened her shirt with the same hand. “She asks so many questions. I’m constantly afraid for when she is going to ask the difficult ones.”
Drevor crossed his arms, leaning more on his right leg than the left, giving his daughter a hard stare. “And which questions are the difficult ones?”
Neveria cast her gaze to the sky, noticing that the clouds were beginning to become a darker shade of grey, signaling the coming of a rainstorm.
She hated the rain.
“There are too many to name,” Neveria finally said, hitching the basket higher on her back. She turned, only stopping when Drevor laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t drive her away, Neveria,” he said gently. “Lie to her if you have to.”
Neveria didn’t respond. She simply nodded, and continued walking.
. . .
Malik led Snow up a rocky path beyond the huts, leading up the side of the cliff face and going farther into the scarce birch trees beyond. Malik had made sure Snow had changed into some pants and boots with a warm shirt, seeing as they were both hiking and that it was going to rain on them.
“So you said you found a bubbling spring?” Snow asked, gripping onto the trunk of a leaning birch tree that veered into the path.
“Yeah! A huge one!” Malik confirmed, spreading out his arms to show how ‘huge’ it was. “It was letting off steam too, so it must be hot.”
Snow’s eyes widened with wonder. “No way, that’s awesome!” She said, letting go of the trunk and hauling herself up a steep part of the path where a solid mass of rock made a natural step.
Soon the pair made it to the end of the path where Malik took a detour, winding his way through the trees, his long braids getting stuck on a few branches on the way.
“When are you going to cut your hair, Malik?” Snow asked, reaching up to tug on one of his braids.
Malik pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re the one who started the hair growing contest, remember? I’m not cutting mine until you cut yours!”
Snow rubbed her chin, leaning into her hip. “Why did I start that contest again?”
Malik scowled. “Snow…”
“Can you teach me how to braid my hair like yours?” She asked suddenly, lifting up sections of her long hair and looking up at him with wide eyes.
“No,” Malik said immediately, crossing his arms.
Snow dropped her hair and fell forwards, wrapping her arms around Malik’s waist and looking up at him with a pleading expression on her pale face. “Please, big brother?”
. . .
A few minutes later, Malik and Snow arrived at the spring, settling down onto some nearby flat rocks and dipping their bare feet into the slightly scalding water.
Malik was also braiding Snow’s hair.
“You go over and under with the strands of hair, like weaving a basket,” Malik instructed Snow, showing her how his fingers weaved together her white hair.
“It’s so pretty!” Snow exclaimed, her hands laying patiently in her lap.
Malik pulled one of his braids up, showing it to Snow. “Is my hair pretty?”
Snow giggled, shaking her head. “It looks fierce on you.” She then leaned forward, looking at her reflection in the water. “My mother says I’m too cute to be fierce.”
Malik laughed, finishing up the braid. “Just give yourself a few years. I’m sure soon you will be one of the fiercest warriors the valley has ever known.”
Instead of responding, Snow continued to stare at the water, prompting Malik to lean forward and nudge her shoulder. “Hey, you alright?”
Snow grabbed hold of Malik’s shirt, pulling him closer and pointing at the edge of the pool where the bubbles don’t distort the surface beneath.
“Do you see that? The symbols,” she said.
Malik frowned, peering at the granite underneath the water. “No?”
Snow sighed, standing and splashing into the pool.
“Wait, careful, Snow! The water is very hot,” Malik warned her, standing but not following her.
She walked around the edge until she reached an area a few feet away. Then she waved Malik over. “Here! You can see them better,” she called.
Malik frowned, standing and walking on the rocks instead of wading through the steaming water. When he reached her, he could finally see what she was seeing. Carved into the rocks were strange hieroglyphs. Hieroglyphs that he couldn’t read.
“This wasn’t made by any of the clans,” Malik said quietly, brushing his hand against the rock under the water.
Snow’s moonstone eyes widened, looking over her shoulder to the middle of the pool where the rocky bottom vanished.
“I wonder if there’s more of them…, stay here, I’m going to take a look,” Snow said, taking off her pants and rolling the sleeves of her shirt up. She tossed Malik her pants before he could get a word out and then dived head first into the center of the pond.
“Snow! Dammit, Neveria is going to kill me,” Malik groaned, throwing down Snow’s soaked pants and wading into the pool after her.
After a certain point, the water became too hot for Malik to continue any further. He was wincing, his nerve endings firing off. He couldn’t believe Snow had dived straight in without coming straight back up. He wasn’t even past his thighs yet.
Then Snow came up, gasping, steam pouring off of her as she swam towards Malik.
Malik reached out for her, but instead of taking his hand Snow stood up, pointing down at the center of the pool. “There’s a ton of them down there, Malik! And I think I saw a cave too!”
Malik’s jaw dropped, safety forgotten. “You’re kidding?”
Snow shook her head, her hands clasped together to her chest. “Come on! You’ve got to come with me and see it for yourself.”
Malik quickly rolled up his pants and left his shirt behind, wanting at least one dry, cool thing when he came back.
Submerging into the boiling water was unbearable, so much so that Snow had to tug him onwards, her small hands barely keeping hold as they swam under a stone arch and up into a column of open water. Above them, an air pocket awaited.
They both gasped as they surfaced, Malik quickly swimming to the dark sandy beach that marked the edge of the underground pool. A small light came through the roof, reflecting off of the water and causing the walls to glow.
Malik looked down at his chest and stomach where his flesh was now an angry red. He winced, pressing handfuls of cold sand onto his skin. He looked up, seeing that Snow was swimming in place in the water still, looking up at the opposite wall which had even larger hieroglyphs.
These were far more decorative and depicted animals of varying sizes. Horses, bears, elk, wolves and even small birds and fish. Trees were carved in with knot designs, their roots traveling down into the water, with humans carved like simple hollowed out stick figures. They looked empty in comparison to all the other carvings.
But above them, with four wings outstretched to encompass half of the cave, was a giant…beast.
“What…is that?” Snow gasped, now coming out of the water to lie on the sand next to Malik.
“It’s some kind of…giant beast bird?” Malik said, his eyes glued to the creatures giant wings.
But Snow was staring at the creature’s face where its eyes had lighting streaking out from the corners, its beak wide open and spewing out more of it.
Snow turned in place, black sand rubbing off on her legs. Behind them, two more of the beasts flew above a valley corridor, their hind talons interlocked, their feathered wings spread out behind them, their lightning breath setting the forests below on fire.
“Doesn’t that…look like our valley, Malik?” Snow asked hesitantly, though her heart hammered with awe and excitement.
Malik turned to face the depiction of the fighting beasts, his warm brown eyes widening. “Yeah…that’s the Great Mountain and the Sister Mountain for sure,” he said, wiping sand off of his chest.
“We can’t tell anyone else about this!” Snow said suddenly, turning and shaking Malik’s shoulders.
“Why?” Malik asked, gently pushing Snow away and gesturing to the cave around him. “This is…this seems like important information to share with the clan-”
“No! They’ll destroy it and you know it!” She shouted.
Malik sighed, hating the angry look on her face. He knew she was right. “I know…I know your right, Snow. My father would chalk this up as being blasphemous against the deities and order it erased…”
Snow nodded once, crossing her arms and looking around at the walls. After a few moments, she leaned over, rummaging through the black sand until she found a sharp shiny pebble. Gripping it tightly in her left hand she lifted her right hand and slid the sharp edge against her palm in between her thumb and forefinger.
“Snow…what are you doing?” Malik asked, alarmed.
Snow held out her hand, blood welling up from her pale skin. “We’re making a pact, here and now. This is our place, and our secret till we die!”
Malik almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of such a pact, but some small part of him, a part of him that he’d hope he’d never lose, took the sharp edge of that rock and sliced the palm of his left hand between his thumb and forefinger.
Snow and Malik then clasped their hands together, shaking them, their blood running into each other and gently dripping onto the dark sandy floor.
Many years later, Malik’s scar would remain, but Snow’s would vanish, as though it had never existed.
Chapter 3: The Battle Mistress
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Post by » ѕнαdσω ⚔️ on Dec 22, 2017 21:59:08 GMT -5
Reviews
Soundtrack
This soundtrack mostly peeks inside of Snow's head and helps tell her story. There are some rare exceptions where other characters have their own song (usually directed at Snow). Out of all the soundtracks I have made for these stories, this one is possibly one of my favorites.
1. "Monster" by Jacob Banks
"They made a monster out of me. They put a shot in my back. They did me to the count of three. They set the hounds on my tracks. They made a demon out of me, then they put a cross through my flesh. They put a search out for me cause I got some blood on my hands."
2. "Me, Myself and I" by Bebe Rexha & G Eazy
"Oh, it's just me, myself and I, solo ride until I die 'cause I got me for life. Oh, I don't need a hand to hold. Even when the night is cold I got that fire in my soul."
3. "You Know You Like It" by DJ Snake & George Reid
"I'm no fool, no, I'm not a follower. I don't take things as they come if they bring me down. Life can be cruel if you're a dreamer. I just wanna have some fun. Don't tell me what could be done."
4. "Wear Me Out" by Skylar Grey
"Well who are you to judge, miss accidental wife? Who was the genius that brought me to life? Well you're such a hypocrite, to think me so unwise. I'm just trying to see the world through my own eyes.
5. "Snow White Queen" by Evanescence
"You belong to me my snow white queen. There's nowhere to run so let's just get it over."
6. "Holy" by PVRIS
"But there's no way that there's weight in the words that you preach, when you're claiming your faith and you contradict your speech. So I sit here and listen to your tongue and cheek,. I know that when you sit and pray you're only praying for keeps."
7. "Something To Believe In" by Young the Giant
"Everyday when I speak to the moon, pale as a ghost in the afternoon. Tragedy has a hold of my mind, but I can see the lie between the lines."
8. "Kill For You" by Skylar Grey ft. Eminem
"All the bad, the battles we lost, the bodies we hid. You don't know, just how far I'd be willing to go. You put the cracks into my moral code."
9. "Whisper" by Evanescence
"She beckons me. Shall I give in? Upon my end shall I begin forsaking all I've fallen for? I rise to meet my end."
10. "Paint It, Black" by Ciara
"I look inside myself and see my heart is black. I see my red door, I must have it painted black. Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts. It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black."
11. "Antartica" by Suicide Boys
"I hate all of you, faithfully. This world was never made for me. Thankfully I’m trained to see past all the lies and righteous sins."
12. "A Little Wicked" by Valerie Broussard
"Beware the patient woman, cause this much I know: no one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne."
Cast
Snow Frostborn - Daughter of Neveria Frostborn. Tall, long-legged, willowy woman with porcelain skin and narrow, sharp features. She has waist length silver-white hair and moonstone colored eyes. (appearance may change depending on time skips; same goes for other characters) Known as Snow from the fan-fiction: Curse
Neveria Frostborn - Tall, lean woman with porcelain skin and sharp features. She has chin length white hair and moonstone eyes. Known as Spottedmoon from the fan-fictions: Curse & Dark Side of the Moon
Drevor Maris - Tall, compact, muscular man with umber brown skin and pale blue eyes. Maris Clan's chieftain. Known as Talonstar from the fan-fiction: Dark Side of the Moon.
Malik Maris - Son of Drevor Maris. Short, lanky boy with umber brown skin and warm brown eyes. He has shoulder length braids and a small scar on his left palm in between his pointer finger and thumb.
More to come as the story is updated! |
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