Writing WIP (chapter one)
Chapter One Rough Draft
I know not if other worlds exist, but I am told they do.
My folk tell me there are five, called ‘realms’, to be known in total, of which I only know their names. (There is my home one, Drowning Dreams; “the realm of those-with-seaweed-hair”, and then there are the others: Boiling Blood; “the realm of griffins”, Iron Will; “the ream of the stubborn”, Mind’s Pen; “the realm of storytellers”, and Rose Gold; “the realm of masked ladies”.) Each of these realms possess their own Heireage, the third-most-prominent family, and each of these Heireages raise the children of the second-most-prominent, the heirs and heiresses.
Within every generation, all Heireages, as my own often reminds me, are held responsible for raising a single child to represent their realm to, well, something, the question of ‘what’ I have yet to have answered. Anyway, each heiring or heiressing child is to be clever when thinking on the feet, spiritual but tough, and most importantly, to be unafraid of pride for their realm. The more ferocious the pride, the better, they claim.
I reflect often what the other heirs and heiresses might be like. From what information I have gathered, I am the first to be born of my generation, although none of our powers will be allowed until, of course, my mother’s generation has completed their duties. What the duties are, I have asked with no response, and as for what happens to the heirs and heiresses after completing their duties, that question grants me the finest of rewards: even less of response.
I am quite sure the other heirs and heiresses will find themselves pondering the same question I find myself so often deep in contemplation of, once they are all born. What is every heiring child molded for exactly? What am I, Sanguis, the current heir of the Realm of Drowning Dreams, to become after decades of the toughest training? Furthermore, why does my Heireage refuse to answer my questions?
Believe me, I wonder this often.
I know not if other worlds exist, but I am told they do.
My folk tell me there are five, called ‘realms’, to be known in total, of which I only know their names. (There is my home one, Drowning Dreams; “the realm of those-with-seaweed-hair”, and then there are the others: Boiling Blood; “the realm of griffins”, Iron Will; “the ream of the stubborn”, Mind’s Pen; “the realm of storytellers”, and Rose Gold; “the realm of masked ladies”.) Each of these realms possess their own Heireage, the third-most-prominent family, and each of these Heireages raise the children of the second-most-prominent, the heirs and heiresses.
Within every generation, all Heireages, as my own often reminds me, are held responsible for raising a single child to represent their realm to, well, something, the question of ‘what’ I have yet to have answered. Anyway, each heiring or heiressing child is to be clever when thinking on the feet, spiritual but tough, and most importantly, to be unafraid of pride for their realm. The more ferocious the pride, the better, they claim.
I reflect often what the other heirs and heiresses might be like. From what information I have gathered, I am the first to be born of my generation, although none of our powers will be allowed until, of course, my mother’s generation has completed their duties. What the duties are, I have asked with no response, and as for what happens to the heirs and heiresses after completing their duties, that question grants me the finest of rewards: even less of response.
I am quite sure the other heirs and heiresses will find themselves pondering the same question I find myself so often deep in contemplation of, once they are all born. What is every heiring child molded for exactly? What am I, Sanguis, the current heir of the Realm of Drowning Dreams, to become after decades of the toughest training? Furthermore, why does my Heireage refuse to answer my questions?
Believe me, I wonder this often.
