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Aerabeth, Chapter 1: Wrongful Conviction

This story was inspired by a writing prompt on EmeraldPhoenix’s blog, The Realm of Writing. You should really check out her stuff!


“I didn’t do it!” I scream. “I’m innocent!”

“Then explain how you were the only other person in the King’s chambers at the time of his murder!” the investigator hisses savagely, slamming his fist down on the table separating us.

“I don’t know!” I choke out. I’m crying now. Great.

Two green-clad guards lead me roughly into a small gray cell. There is a pair of heavy shackles  hanging from the ceiling by two thick chains. In the corner of the room, there is a toilet without a lid, and a small bucket that looks like it hasn’t been washed in a very long time.

I stare for a moment, my eyes wide with shock. They can’t be putting me in here, there must be some mistake…

Nope. They unceremoniously shove me in without even bothering to take the gag out of my mouth. One of them laughs when I notice the scrape on my palm and start .

“You’d better be a lot tougher ‘n you look if you want to stay alive down here.” the mean gaurd jeers. I try to think of a comeback but panic and anger cloud my mind. All I can do is scowl at him darkly and pretend his comment hasn’t affected me. But it has.

His words swirl toxically through my brain as the gaurds remove the gag from my mouth and fasten the chains to my wrists, and after they slam to heavy metal door shut, locking me in. Even deep into what I can only judge to be night by the dim sound of heavy boots clattering past my cell door, the words are still heavy on my mind.

The cold shackles bite into my wrists, now numb with pain. I hang my head wearly, which is the closest I can get to lying down. If only I could sleep, just for a little while. Sleep… A sharp pain courses through my body, cruelly jolting me awake. A small thought begins to form in my tired mind.

A little spark of hope

An idea that would have never crossed my mind before today

A way out.

*stupid self deprecating joke, etc etc*

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Story #3?

I worked all day on this. Ain’t I just the most productive person there ever was?



Oh god, how did I get myself into this mess… Confusion and fear burn through my mind, a sliver of excitement simmering beneath them. I peer around the wall of heavy crates blocking my veiw, ready to run at the slightest bit of sound or movement.

“I see you’re adjusting well,” an deep voice whispers in my ear.

I jump back, my heart pounding in my chest. A wave of relief pulses through my brain as a familiar face steps out from behind me, grinning and holding his hands in the air.

I smile and punch him in the stomach. I am rewarded with a groan of pain.

“Yeah Dylan, I’m really getting comfortable with the thought that a renowned assassin is after me. And thanks for the heart attack by the way,” I reply in an accusing tone.

“No problem, and your jab was a delightful use of my time as well.”

I roll my eyes and duck away behind another pile of crates, catching sight of a flash of red and green about 20 yards in front of me. I note the direction the colors were going and begin running in the opposite direction.

A hand grabs my wrist, pulling painfully against my efforts to run away. I sigh and turn around, shaking off Dylan’s grip.

“Listen, I know this person. And she knows all the tricks in the book. Right now she’s probably sneaking up behind us, and chances are she’s going to be coming from that way.”

“Well- then what do you suggest I do?”

He shakes his head and grabs my hand tightly. “No, what we do. If we split up she’ll just pick us off, starting with the weaker one of us.”

I gulp, swallowing the knowledge that, though I won’t admit it, he is stronger than me.

“Wouldn’t want her to do that,” I say with a nervous laugh “and here I always thought I would be the first one to go. Guess even I can be wrong sometimes.”

“‘Even a broken clock is right twice a day’ sounds like it fits you better.” Dylan smirks.

“It’s not an insult if it implys that I’m right.” He begins to say something, but I clamp my palm over his mouth and put a finger to my lips.

“Shush,” I whisper. “I think I heard somethi- oh my god, are you licking my hand?!” I pull my hand away disgustedly, now warm and moist, and wipe it on the back of my pants. I hear the sound again, even closer than before. Rough boots scraping against the rotting boards of the dock, thumping slowly towards our small pile of crates.

“Damn it, okay, what should we do,” I mutter. “Now you’re gettin’ it babe,” he says with a grin. “Okay, we’re going to climb to the top of these crates, duck low so we don’t get skylined, and wait for her to pass. Once she’s clear of this section, we can sneak into the water.”

“Okay, one, don’t call me babe, and two, what are we going to do once we’re in the water?”

“I know a place. Now hurry up and start climbing, she’s getting closer.”

I make my way to the top of the heap, ducking as instructed once I reach the highest crate. The thumping has now turned into a tap, and a long shadow is coming around the corner to our left.

A tall figure unknowingly reveals itself to us, pointy boots tapping patiently towards us, face drawn into a confident sneer, platinum hair pulled up into a tight bun. I wince at the sight of her trademark bullwhip. I’ve only seen it a few times, and just on TV. But up close it’s even worse.

They say that it’s owner spends hours each night polishing it, until its silver gray surface is practically a mirror. I stare, watching it snake through the air, flicking back and forth as if it has a mind of its own, and finally coming to rest curled tightly by its owner’s side.

My eyes widen as I see that my own face, and Dylan’s as well are reflected clearly on the cold silver. If she just looks down, she’ll find us. I shudder at the thought of what that whip could do to human flesh. I slowly grab Dylan’s arm to get his attention, and motion towards the whip.

He looks at it, then me, shakes his head, and lifts his crossed fingers in front of my face. I sigh and cross my fingers as well.  I anxiously look back, not to the whip, but to the face above it. The breath catches in my throat as I realize that her black eyes are focused intently on our two faces.

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The Mystery Blogger Award

Nominated by the always charming The_Great_Awesome!

Da Rules

  1. Post the award/ image on your blog .
  2. Thank whoever nominated you and give a link back to their blog.
  3. Mention the creator of the award and give a link back to her blog.
  4. Nominate some deserving bloggers and notify your nominees by commenting on their blogs.
  5. Ask your nominees 5 questions of your choice; including one weird or funny question.  


My tablet won’t let me download images RN for some reason, so I’m just gonna have to skip that first rule XD

Anyway, this award was created by Okoto Enigma! Go check out his/her blog (😂i really don’t know anything abput this person cause I’m an uncultured swine 😛).

Dang it I have to actually nominate people this time or my single little sliver of credibility goes out the window. (Warning, I’m about to go off on a tangent) This is the problem with being an inxtrovert, a word I just made up which means a socially awkward person who likes socializing. You know the big drag of being an inxtrovert? You have to social skills of an introvert, but the social needs of an extrovert. It’s similar to my relationship with water. I love swimming but suck at it. Huh, the principal of being an inxtrovert can apply to a lot of things in my life actually. Drawing, writing, cooking, living, etc.

So that was like three minutes of me rambling about a word I just made up. I’m awesome at time management.

Anyways *jrvxuhghn* I nominate Sfcamster and stichiella

Now I shall answer ze questions


If you could go ANYWHERE, where would you go?

Vegas. I stand by my answer %100.

Swimming or flying?

Fuhlllyyyyiiiiiinng duuuuuuhz

If you could turn into an animal, would you?

That depends, would the change be permanent? If not, then I totally would. Probably some sort of bird. Cause you just read my last answer right.

If you could go back in time to visit someone, who would you visit?

Since I don’t really care much about meeting historical figures, I’m not going to put much thought into my choice. Christopher Columbus. Cause he’s the first person that popped into my head. I probably should care more about history than I do.

Would you rather own a normal pet, or an exotic pet?

 Normal. Don’t you dare take my kitties away.



My questions are…


  1. How long can you hold your breath?
  2. What is the first thing you can remember drawing?
  3. Why did you start blogging?
  4. Who was the last notification you got from (not including the one from me)
  5. Even if you don’t like either one much, would you rather read about a dystopian universe or a utopian universe?

So that’s it, sorry I bored most of you ta death, mates. I’d come to your funerals but I don’t think I’d be welcome.


Help my brain is fried