That Frisian Girl-ish on Nostr: July #WritingWonders Day 1: "Intro Day. Your MC shows up on your doorstep, what do ...
July #WritingWonders Day 1: "Intro Day. Your MC shows up on your doorstep, what do you say and/or do?"
WIP is "The Wolf in the Shadows."
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing I hate my doorbell. One of these days, I'll change this harsh tormentor of ears and nerves for something not half as abrasive. Mind you, I tell that to myself every time since I moved in nearly three years ago, and never do. I buzz open the door downstairs, open the apartment door, and as a courtesy, switch on the staircase light, too. I hear shuffling three stairs down, the house door closes, steps on the stairs. Regular, not hurried. So someone actually wants to talk to me, and not just throw a package for the neighbors somewhere in the hall? Please don't be another salesperson...
The steps stay at their even pace. A few seconds that leave me wondering, and then I see a head emerging from the deeps of the lower floors, crowned with dark red hair. Someone looking like they might be ready for a LARP - but the armor looks heavy. It has the dynamics of something heavy. I'm impressed by the pace now.
No... it can't be. The figure, a woman, the tan of someone from around the Mediterranean Sea on her face looks up at me. She's short. I never quite thought of how short she'd be, actually. If she were who I think she'd have to be.
"You can't be..."
"Sister Elena Navar, Knight of the Order of the Argentae."
"I wrote you! You come out of my head!"
"And quite a messy place that is."
"I've not been kind to you, have I."
"No. Let us talk about that."
I ask her in, and offer her coffee. She and I probably can talk best. So lucky that it wasn't her sister Silvana - too lively - or Jenifry - too panicky.
https://blahaj.zone/notes/9fqorkawu0
WIP is "The Wolf in the Shadows."
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing I hate my doorbell. One of these days, I'll change this harsh tormentor of ears and nerves for something not half as abrasive. Mind you, I tell that to myself every time since I moved in nearly three years ago, and never do. I buzz open the door downstairs, open the apartment door, and as a courtesy, switch on the staircase light, too. I hear shuffling three stairs down, the house door closes, steps on the stairs. Regular, not hurried. So someone actually wants to talk to me, and not just throw a package for the neighbors somewhere in the hall? Please don't be another salesperson...
The steps stay at their even pace. A few seconds that leave me wondering, and then I see a head emerging from the deeps of the lower floors, crowned with dark red hair. Someone looking like they might be ready for a LARP - but the armor looks heavy. It has the dynamics of something heavy. I'm impressed by the pace now.
No... it can't be. The figure, a woman, the tan of someone from around the Mediterranean Sea on her face looks up at me. She's short. I never quite thought of how short she'd be, actually. If she were who I think she'd have to be.
"You can't be..."
"Sister Elena Navar, Knight of the Order of the Argentae."
"I wrote you! You come out of my head!"
"And quite a messy place that is."
"I've not been kind to you, have I."
"No. Let us talk about that."
I ask her in, and offer her coffee. She and I probably can talk best. So lucky that it wasn't her sister Silvana - too lively - or Jenifry - too panicky.
https://blahaj.zone/notes/9fqorkawu0