Hey guys!  It’s been a long time since I posted.  I decided to take some time to focus on querying literary agents for one of my novels, and I also was studying for the CSET (aka a very difficult test which one must pass in order to become a teacher).  With all of this going on, I didn’t have the time necessary to write up blogs.

If I’m honest, I probably still don’t.  But I’ve started writing a third fairy tale, in the same world as The Weavers’ Blessing and The Kangaffs’ Curse.  I love and hate these fairy tales in equal measure.  They’re fun, their light, they’re a great creative exercise–but they always demand to be written at the absolute worse possible times.

As of now, I’m going to do my best to post one chapter a week.  I hope you enjoy them!  Please leave (thoughtful and considerate) comments, feedback, and reviews!!

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Chapter One

Once upon a time in a world not so far from our own, there was a kingdom named Jarrett.  Like most kingdoms, it had its troubles and its triumphs, but for the most part, its people were content.

Long ago, when Jarrett was nothing more than acres of farmland surrounding a modest wooden manor of twenty rooms, in the days when the great Magicians and Enchantresses walked the land, a good sorceress happened upon the people of Jarrett in the midst of one of its times of trouble.  Legend holds that the few people in Jarrett were embroiled in bloody conflict as two opposing men fought for a woman’s affections.

“This shall never more happen,” the good sorceress declared.  “To eradicate the need for competition, in Jarrett shall see clearly when they first look upon the match of their hearts.”

Thus it was that ever after, in Jarrett the people began to see color only from the day on which they first laid eyes on the one they would love as long as their lives lasted.  As the good sorceress had intended, this bred greater peace in Jarrett, for who would wage war with their neighbor when they could live peacefully in a world illuminated by the presence of their most beloved one?

As Jarrett had peace in its borders, so it enjoyed peace with its neighbors.  Such a small kingdom was of little interest to larger realms.  Though greedy monarchs like those of Poldar might normally be interested in Jarrett simply as a new area to control, the treacherous wilderlands surrounding the tiny kingdom deterred them.

Alas, the insignificant place Jarrett enjoyed in international affairs could not last forever.  One day, the vagrant seer Luc happened into the realm on the christening day of Princess Noemi.  All the kingdom assembled in celebration, and therefore all heard the vagrant seer Luc’s dreadful prophesy:

“Blessed is the princess with kindness and goodness, yet short shall be her days.  She shall fall prey to the serpent’s voice and perish by her eighteenth year, lest she beholds the world in color and not only in shade.  Only then may the dragon’s speech be thwarted and her life prolonged.”

The king and queen, together with all the people of Jarrett, determined to prevent the seer’s words from coming true.  Men of all statuses set out on a crusade to eradicate the dragons from the land.  Into every lonely forest and rocky mountain crevice they went, risking their lives to slay the monsters.

As for Princess Noemi, she grew up in the arms of her family.  Yet her life was far from normal: Every day since her infancy, she had to sit for hours as an endless line of men was paraded before her, in the hope that one of them would unlock her heart and turn her gray vision into a myriad of colors.

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            In the wilderlands of Jarrett, Sir Lamar slowed his steed.  At first glance, it appeared a camp of knights lay resting around a campfire.  He knew better.  Despite the challenges of seeing flames in grayscale vision, he could tell the fire ring held only ashes.

With a grunt, Sir Lamar swung off his horse and knelt beside the closest man.  The lack of armor suggested he was at rest, but he lay strewn across the brush instead of atop his nearby sleep roll.  A quick glance showed that was the case for all the men.

Lamar squinted, looking for the tell-tale dark stain of blood.  There was none.  Stripping off his riding gloves, he felt around the man’s neck.  Sure enough, there was a faint pulse.

Bent over, Lamar searched the ground.  He found what he was looking for a few yards away: Huge, scorched footprints.

Lamar looked on the sleeping knights with sorrow.  “Alas, my brothers, would that I could save you.”  His mournful words sounded muffled through the cotton plugs in his ears.  “Alas that she came upon you before I did!  You are beyond saving now, but your sacrifice will not be in vain.”

He peeked at the pale sky.  The eastern edge was already beginning to turn darker gray, but at least there was no sign of her.  She would be back soon, within two days, so he did not linger.  Sir Lamar sprung onto his mount and turned toward the castle.  “She’s heading there,” he told the horse.  “Right for the princess.  I have to warn them.”

And who knew? he thought, anticipating his first sight of royalty.  Maybe he would see color soon—and maybe he would be the next king.

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