oooofffff yall listen. this internship is kicking my ass and i'm so tired and i never get to write BUT IT'S ALMOST OVER!!!!!
however, i made some progress :) 8400+ words!!! super excited about that.
here's a little bit for you in the meantime! thanks for sticking around while real life takes over for a little bit. it means a lot!!!
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A staircase spirals downward, its steps carved from dark-veined stone, polished smooth by years of passage. The baluster is a work of quiet artistry, shaped in the image of the Eldertide, its branches twisting into an intricate lattice, leaves unfurling in delicate arcs. Though untouched by my father’s reign, there is no opulence here, only a sense of timeless purpose. The wood gleams under the golden light of sconces, their iron frames shaped like reaching limbs, casting shifting shadows that mimic a canopy overhead.
As I descend, the silence deepens, wrapping around me like the hush of a sacred grove. The world above feels distant, its cruelties muffled beneath layers of stone and history. Here, in the heart of the Vaults of Windfell–the kingdom’s renowned ancient archives– time does not bow to kings.
The air is warm inside, carrying the scent of parchment and ink, candle wax and aging leather. Towering shelves stretch high above me, filled with centuries of Gaeloria’s history. The golden filigree along the archways gleams in the candlelight, intricate designs of beasts and ancient runes curling along the vaulted ceilings.
And in the quiet, among the endless shelves, is the person I came to see. Linden is sitting at the end of one of the long wooden tables, his head bent over a book, one hand absently tapping on the tabletop. I hesitate in the doorway, suddenly unsure. I don’t know what I want from him. Comfort? Guidance? Target practice? He glances up and sees me. His brow furrows, but he doesn’t speak. For a moment I just stand there, my fists clenched at my sides. Then with a slow breath, I step forward.
Linden is the spitting image of our mother, with shocking red hair against his pale angular face. His lanky figure is contorted into a strange shape to fit both of his feet on the seat of his chair, arms folded across his chest and glaring at me expectantly. As usual, he leaves the space between us open for me to take the first word. I cross quickly to stand in front of my brother, standing firm and glaring down my nose at him.
“What the fuck, Linden?” His face doesn’t change. He looks at me with his matching green eyes, lifted to look through a mess of loose red hair across his forehead. I can never tell what he’s thinking, and he knows it. He’s always been able to torment me with just a silent stare, anxious that whatever he knew was a weapon.
“What the fuck, Thalia?” His tone is flat, cold, even. He’s as stoic as he’s ever been, still plotting out every discussion as if it were its own battle. I always believed he could do well in the military with the other men of our family. He is cold and cunning, like our father; he’s also dangerously intelligent, like our mother. When Ash would fight his way through a problem, Linden would methodically manipulate the entire situation to fit his own gains. I don’t know who scares me more now: him, Ash, or our father.
“Where were you?” I continue to lecture him, crossing my arms as he does. The words hang in the air for a moment before he blows them away with an exasperated sigh. He unfolds his legs to set his feet on the floor, and stands. He towers over me by at least a foot, and even with his gaunt frame he is just as intimidating as any other Blackthorne man.
“I was here doing my job,” he says coolly, before sneering down his own nose back at me. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.” I would roll my eyes at his patronizing tone, but my anger stops me from moving. He turns his back to me, and begins to walk away towards the entryway.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” I yell at him, but he doesn’t stop. “Hey!” I scream, storming up behind him and grabbing his arm to yank him back. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Linden!” He shakes his arm free of me, and takes a large step forward. He turns to face me, stopping me in my tracks. His eyes aren’t cold anymore, instead flaming hot with fury.
“War, Thalia,” he growls under his breath. “War is what’s going on. And you’re part of it, whether you like it or not.” He turns back around to leave, but I yell for him to stop.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, quieter than before, the anger slipping into a simmering fear. To my surprise, he chuckles to himself.
“I’m going to my room.” He points behind me, at the large clock hanging on the wall of the Vaults. “It’s the end of my shift.”
