Pixie Prom Dates?

Primrose The Pixie

Hey there my Flutterific Pixies! It’s me, Primrose. 😀

So, I wanted to make this post, about the dates for the Pixie Prom 2017. Of course, Gwyn and I normally pick the dates/theme. However I’ve been thinking it’ll maybe be better if you guys comment when is easiest to attend it for you. The date most voted for (Month/Day) will be most likely chosen, or days picked around that time. As for the theme, some of you voted, Seasonal, Vintage & Animal themed as well. Hard to pick isn’t it? :3 Hmm. Well, do us a favor and leave a comment on my LAST post where I asked you guys what theme you want. However while your at it. Leave a comment on this post letting me know what kind of time for the Pixie Prom 2017 fits your schedule the best. We’ll try our best to make it fit all…

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Short Story – Evermore

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Hey everyone!

So this is the short story I mentioned in my last post. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to post it before I went away for almost two weeks, which is why I’m only posting now.

This is the first fantasy story I’ve ever finished outside the Forgotten Tales, so I’d appreciate any feedback you may have. I really like the concept I came up with, and I’m actually thinking of elaborating on it and turning it into a longer story… Anyway, I hope you like it.  🙂

Cya ’round the waterfall,

Rose 

Evermore

By Rose MorningMist

It wasn’t always like this.

There was a time when my kind were accepted in society, cherished, even. But that was before the Great War came, before we were deemed responsible for the actions of both humans and Evermores alike.

I saw it all. I may look eighteen, but I’ve lived for hundreds of years. That’s why we’re called Evermores – we live so long, we’re practically immortal.

After the war, the humans started to call us witches due to our unnatural powers. They hunted us down, slaughtering us like pigs. Now, we’re forced to hide if we value our lives.

Which is why I, Ember Youthvale, Fire-type Evermore, am currently crouching in a muddy ditch in the middle of the woods, covered in scratches, my faded beige dress torn, moments away from being found.

It’s my own fault, really. I blew my cover. It’s a shame – the small village of Synax had started to grow on me. I’ve been living there for months now – even have my own house, a small, wooden hut with a creaky bed and stone fireplace. At least, I did. It’s probably been looted and burnt by now.

It all started when I left for my shift at the Dark Soldier – a tavern on the edge of Synax. Not the most pleasant job, but the best I could get with no experience in any crafts. Besides, it paid for the food on my table and the roof I lived under, so I didn’t usually complain. I spent three days a week working at that dingy bar, from early evening to midnight.

The Dark Solider is a large, open room littered with rickety old tables and chairs. There’s a bar up front, where drinks are made, and a small coat rack for visitors to use. Behind the bar is a trapdoor to the cellar, where they store the drinks. A winding set of stairs lead to a small inn, known as the Sleeping Bear, upstairs.

As my shift started, I was greeted by the Kevin, the bar tender – a kind man in his forties. He and his wife run the place.

“Evenin’ Isadora,” he said. I smiled, nodding my head in greeting, throwing my cloak over the rack.

Isadora Serenade – that’s my cover name. I’d never use my real name – Youthvale is too well-known, as my parents infamously fought in the war.

It was barely dark, but the tavern was already filled with customers – villagers, travellers – all stout after a few rounds of beer. I set to work, falling into a pattern of serving drinks and taking orders, trying to remain as unnoticeable as possible – only speaking when spoken to, yet making it very clear that I wouldn’t tolerate courtship. Business was running as usual… Until they arrived.

The door opened with a loud bang, startling me from my daze. A group of five entered, dressed in dark cloaks and armed to the teeth with knives and crossbows. They reeked with the smell of smoke and decay.

Bounty hunters.

I froze, almost dropping the mug I was cleaning, catching it just before it hit the ground, cursing under my breath. These people had been trained in the art of finding their prey in a crowd of thousands. They could sniff out an Evermore in seconds. One wrong move on my account, and I was dead.

The regulars made fast friends with them, even offering to pay for their first round of drinks. I stalled, cleaning mugs for three times as long as I usually would, keeping my head down, trying to remain unseen. An impossible feat, as my fiery red hair was noticeable from miles away. Aside from that, I was nothing unique – tall, with green eyes and second-hand clothes. I was definitely, determinedly, deliberately, a face you were likely to forget.

“Oi, you!”

I winced. I’d forgotten I was the only one on this shift. Damn. Rearranging my expression, I turned to face the man speaking – a regular to the tavern – Marcus, I think is his name.

He smiled crookedly, and said, “Prep another round for us, eh love?”

I bit back the snarky remark I had ready for him, and nodded. Marcus turned back to the newcomers. “What were you saying about that witch clan, then?”

I did my best to remain nonchalant as I bustled around their table, taking up mugs and the small pouch of coins that would pay for their next round. One of the hunters smirked.

“Found their safe hold, we did. Series of caves, running under Demsen.”

Evermores hiding under Demsen, the capitol? I couldn’t help it; I snorted.

That was my first mistake.

Fourteen pairs of eyes turned to glare at me.

“What’s so funny then?” slurred Marcus.

I could’ve stopped there, could’ve apologised, could’ve gone about my business. But no, I had to open my big mouth.

“You really think Evermores are hiding under the largest city in our region?” I blurted. “They’re not stupid.”

Stupid, dumb, foolish mistake.

The men roared with laughter.

“Witches with smarts? They’re dumber than horses, they are!” Bellowed a hunter.

“Found two a few weeks ago in the middle of a field, using magic, in plain sight!” Exclaimed another. “If that ‘aint stupid I don’t know what is!”

My cheeks burned. They were just short of screaming now – a few other customers had started looking our way, curious about the uproar. I did my best to hold my temper as I returned to the bar to fill their cups.

“Got a handsome reward for that catch, we did,” Said another. “Four-hundred gold, payed in hand.”

My blood boiled. These were my people they were talking about, as if they were nothing but wild game.

“Last of the Youthvale bloodline they were, ‘s far as we know.”

My heart stopped. Youthvale.

My parents.

I hadn’t heard from them in years, not since the war. We’d split up, thinking it best for our safety.

“They were publicly executed of course.” He continued. “Burned at the stake.”

The grief was almost overpowering. I blinked back tears. It didn’t surprise me – It was astounding they’d avoided capture for so long. I finished filling the cups, biting by lip. My parents were dead. Burned at the stake.

Don’t cry, don’t say anything, keep in controlkeepincontrolkeepincontrol-

“I hear they made them light each other up, being Fire-types and all.”

Another round of laughter.

That’s when I lost it.

The men barely had time to duck as I turned, flames shooting from my palms, my scream echoing through the tavern. I threw all my power into it, setting the floor ablaze, sending customers running. It took me a minute to realise what I’d just done.

Amidst the chaos, I slipped out the door.

I had enough time to collect my savings and a small hunting knife from my hut before the village guards had been alerted and instantly given chase. To them, I was no longer the quiet maiden who worked at the bar anymore.

I was a witch. A Fire-type.

Suddenly, I was a threat.

So I chose my only option – I ran.

I fled into the forest, trees attacking me as I went, scraping my arms, tearing my dress, the crashes of branches breaking surrounding me as the guards circled me, trapping me. With no way out, my only option was to hide and hope they gave up.

They still haven’t. Now I’m in a ditch with a guard standing just centimetres away. There’s nowhere to go. My magic’s spent, my hunting knife no match for a longsword. There’s little chance I’ll survive this.

Which is why I’m writing this. I found some parchment in my pocket, and though I don’t have enough magic left to fight, there’s enough for a quick scribe’s spell.

If someone’s reading this… I’m most likely dead. But don’t worry. I’m not going down without a fight. However outmatched I am, I will die with honour. The fire inside of me is yet to dispel.

I leave this note as a plea to humanity. We, the Evermores, wish you no harm. We did nothing wrong. All we want is to live in harmony once mo-

~~

Journal Entry ~ June 10, 2017 ~ What is magic?

A truly beautiful post from Faith, love it ❤

Secrets of a Garden Pixie

I’ve been thinking about what magic means lately. Magic is holding optimism and wonder dearly in your heart. It is curiosity, wonder, mystery, optimism, reverie, and timelessness all wrapped up and contained in a single beating heart. Some might say – but isn’t magic having supernatural powers? Like flying? Or making something out of nothing? In movies and books, sure. That’s one way of considering it. But it doesn’t have to be so; and it can be so much more. Let’s face it – if that were the only definition of magic we would all be excluded from being magical. 

Magic happens every time you refuse to abandon hope, and persevere.

Magic is a healthy mix of love and humility with regards to oneself. 

Magic happens every time you choose to listen to your heart.

Magic happens every time you dare to be who you really are, or to…

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I’m Alive! (Updates)

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Hey everyone!

Good news! The Once Upon A Time finale didn’t kill me… Though I did cry my eyes out for a good ten minutes towards the end. Happy tears, though, which was a nice change.  😛

Yes, I know I haven’t posted in a full month… Absolutely unacceptable. XP

Okay, so I’m super sorry I’ve been so inactive this month. There’s been several times I’ve gone to post something, but I’ve just never been able to start writing. It’s almost like I had writers block for blogging.  :/

As I’ve probably mentioned in previous posts, this year is a really busy one academic-wise and I’ve had to start focusing a lot more on school work. However, recently, it’s not so much that I’ve had assessments keeping me from posting and more that I’ve just been coming home physically drained, and the last thing I want to do is be productive. True, I could of written something short and posted it up, but I don’t really like doing that sort of thing, if I can avoid it. I pride myself in publishing (what I hope is, for the most part) good-quality content on this blog, and a that can leave big gaps in between posts as a majority of that is stories.

The thing is, there’s no real structure to how I write the Forgotten Tales. I find my writing is best when I’m inspired or feeling really intense emotions, and when I do, I write whatever I’m feeling most motivated to write, which is why I have so many stories being uploaded from all over the Forgotten Tales timeline. When I’m tired, like I have been a lot recently, I find that whilst I can have some great ideas, it’s really hard to put them onto a page. That, and after previous situations such as the time where I’ve accidentally re-wrote a part of a story that was already included in the previous update, I like to have a solid idea of all the events that are to happen to avoid clashes and plot holes, so I’m unlikely to publish a part of a story without having finished, or at least know exactly what’s to happen in the rest of it. As for poems, I tend to just write those as the ideas come, which is why they’re posted less frequently.

Which reminds me – Faith Fancypuff emailed me a few days ago with my badge for participating in her poetry challenge back in March! Here it is:

 

Isn’t it pretty?  😀

I’d also like to take this chance to thank you all for a massive overall 7,000 views for this blog – it really warms my heart to know people enjoy what I post.  🙂

Actually, I hit 7,000 a little while back, so the count has gone up even more since, so thank you all so much.  ❤

Anyway, I think that’s about it for this post. I’d like to note that my assessment starts up again in a few weeks time, and on top of that I’ll be away for about twelve days in the middly of June, so I there may be another long gap between posts… However, something I’d love to share before I get too busy is a short story that I recently wrote for a school assessment – we did a creative writing topic recently and had to come up with an original story for the test, so whilst it’s not related to the Forgotten Tales, I still think you might enjoy it.  😉

Thanks for reading,

– Rose  ❤

 

Pixie Prom Ideas {2017}

What are your thoughts on themes for this years Pixie Prom?

Primrose The Pixie

Hey my Flutterific Pixies, it’s me Primrose!

So the reason why I’m posting this, is because I’ve been thinking. Every year Gwyn and I, both host the Pixie Prom as you probably already know,  we come up with theme. So, I was wondering you guys could do us a huge favor for this year? If you guys can comment on both our blogs for what theme you guys would like that would be a huge help! The most requested will MOST likely be chosen as the theme for the Pixie Prom!

Some of my ideas:

*~Classical Ballroom~*

{~}Winter Festival{~}

&*& Seasonal Feast &*& {You can dress up as a Autumn fairy, Winter, Summery fairy, Spring Fairy}

^v Vintage Ball v^

() Nature/River Ball ()

% Animal Themed Ball %

Have a Flutterific day! Fly with you later, my Flutterific Pixies!

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Spontaneous Poetry – Who I Am

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Hey pixies,

So before you read this poem, I thought I’d give a bit of context for the rant it contains it’s slightly… passionate tone.  XD

There’s something that’s kind of been bothering me these past few months, and that’s how influencial society’s epectations are on our lives. It’s not really anything anyone’s deliberately said or done, more so something I’ve noticed going about day to day life.

As you probably can gather, I’ve never been the most popular kid (what even is popularity anyway), so by the time I was halfway through high school I accepted my fate and just stopped trying to ‘fit in.’  😛

Essentially, I started to embrace the crazy, over-imaginative fangirl that is myself and whilst some people I know are quite happy to accept that, I’ve noticted that most people just give me weird looks and are quite happy to insult my love of reading, or my fandoms, or my slight YouTube addiction.

Now, I know that a lot of those kind of remarks aren’t meant to be hurtful, but I can’t help but feel they are aimed at me, or rather, the aspects of my life that make up my personality, and I’m alright with them making a joke and to laugh alongside everyone else, but I can’t help but walk away from those situations doubting myself.

So I though whilst I was feeling rather annoyed about this situation, why not write a poem about it?

I hope you like it!  😉

 – Rose  ❤

~~

Who I am

Some say I’m an odd one

Some say I’m just plain weird

What I don’t understand is

Why is the world so ready to hate

On something, on someone

Who doesn’t act the same?

Hello, my name is Rose

Well not really, it’s a screen name

I’m a writer, a blogger

A YouTuber, a fangirl

I write stories about my childhood game

I make videos about the fandoms I love

I try to express myself through the words I write

Because my mind goes blank when I try to speak them

Hello, my name is Rose

I’m a little anti-social

I still make mistakes

And I’m still trying to learn from them

I know I’ll never be perfect

I know my logic is sometimes flawed

But I’m trying my best to be a good person

Hello, my name is Rose

I’m never going to wear makeup everyday

Or wear the latest trends

Or get social media

None of the above have ever intrested me

Yes, my room is always going to be filled with posters

No, I will not stop fangirling, my ship is adorable

I know I’m not great at art, or piano or even poetry

But I do it anyway

Why?

Because I enjoy it

Because I make my own choices

Society does not get to rule my life

Not my hair, my clothes, my look

Not my hobbies, what I read, what I write

Not what I watch, or my personality

I choose these things

Because they’re what make me unique

This is who I am

I know some won’t be able to accept that

Not ever

I know some may find me strange

And always will

I know some may not understand

Why I read books for hours on end

Why I’m so invested in my fandoms

Why I own this blog

Why I write my stories

And they’ll never try to

But I’ll try not to mind

I chose this path

I chose to be myself

Instead of following the crowd

This is who I am

And this is how I’ll stay

Take it, or leave it

Because I’m never

Going to change.

~~

Rose’s Guide – Back In Time…

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Hey guys!

So as some of you may remember, a few posts ago I mentioned that I was going right back to the beginning of my stories to work out the changes to the Forgotten Tales plot. Well, when I said ‘back to the beginning’, I meant back to the very beginning of the plot, as in, the origin tales of the Hollow, long before Rose was born.

Seeing as I’m writing it all down as it is, I thought it’d be a good idea to add it to Rose’s Guide, too. Speaking of, I’ve also been spending some time working on the layout of the Forgotten Tales, like I mentioned way back, all those months ago.  😛

Basically, I’ve been fixing the layout of certain sections, especially the longer stories, so that they’re (hopefully) easier to navigate and not as daunting (I mean, some of them are around 20 A4 pages long) when it comes to reading them. However, it’s still an ongoing process, so it might take a while before I’m finished.

Still with me?  😛

Due to this, Rose’s Guide is now in chapter form, which should hopefully make things easier for you guys. It’s a bit hard to explain, so I’ll let you see for yourself – you can go via the Forgotten Tales page or you can click on the links at the end of the post.

Anyway, here’s a small snippet of the new content. It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it.  😉

~~

The Origin of Pixies

In the beginning, the world was dark and bleak. The Clumsies that roamed the world in this time were constantly in danger. There was no happiness, only fear and sorrow. The entire world was wrapped in an everlasting Winter, and there were no stars in the night sky – only the moon. Then, one day, a Clumsy child strayed from their tribe, and stumbled across a dandelion, scattering its seeds into the wind. Upon seeing such a sight, the child was filled with joy and a laugh echoed across the lands for the very first time…

Click here to read the rest of the passage on ‘The Origins of Pixies’

~~

Thanks for reading,

 – Rose  ❤

Click here to see the new layout of Rose’s Guide

Click here to see the layout of Chapter 1 – Beginnings

Gothic Short Story – The Phantom Hitch-hiker

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Hi everyone,

So I’m finally on holidays again, which means that I get to spend the next two weeks reading, writing and watching YouTube!  😛

Today I thought I’d share a short story I write for my English class. We were studying the Gothic Genre last term, so in one of our last lessons, we were given a short scenario and asked to write write a short story about it and what happened next, including certain words. Well, we never went back to the task after that lesson, but I ended up finishing it and I wanted to share it.

This is the Gothic first story I’ve ever written, so I hope you enjoy it.  😉

– Rose  ❤

~~

The Phantom Hitch-hiker

The meeting had gone longer than he had intended it to.

Brendan Woods sat in the front seat of his car, blinking wearily. The road ahead was long and dim. His job took him to the city three days a week, and despite the little lighting and the rain beating on the old, steep road, he knew his route back to Birkenhead well. He sighed, rubbing his eyes – he could have been home by now. His boss was a lovely elderly woman, but these days she was rather hard of hearing. Any conversation with her took twice as long, and this caused issues at meetings.

As he drove along the road towards the Mersey tunnel, he yawned and stretched his aching muscles. Not long now. He could picture his daughter’s face as he walked through the door. Gracie refused to sleep until he was home safely. Her face would light up and he’d scoop her up into his arms, just as he always did and tuck her into bed. Then his wife would smile at him with adoring eyes and go make him a nice, strong cup of tea.

Once, he had asked Gracie why she waited for him to come home each night.

“I don’t want the Ghost of Mersey tunnel to get you, dad,” is what she’d said.

The Ghost of Mersey tunnel – a silly fantasy made up by the older children at young Gracie’s school, to scare the little kids on Halloween. The story went that years ago, someone had died in a crash on the last turning of Mersey tunnel, his soul becoming trapped there. To release himself from his prison, another had to die in the tunnel, to take his place. Only then would it be set free. The ghost succeeded, but then his victim was trapped with the same fate, and so for years the process happened over and over, causing the long history of car crashes recorded over the past twenty years.

“Oh, Gracie, there’s no need to worry. There is no ghost.” He’d chuckled at the thought. The tunnel is completely safe. I’ll always be there when you wake up in the morning, making you breakfast.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The memory made him smile, but then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, outside the entrance of the tunnel.

The girl was young; she could only be ten, at the most. She was ghastly pale, her dark hair drenched and tattered clothes sticking to her fragile figure, her jacket hood over her face in an attempt to shelter herself from the rain. She stood at the edge of the road – no bags, no belongings – her arm outstretched, thumb out.

A hitch-hiker?

Bemused, but feeling dreadfully sorry for the child, he pulled over and wound down the car window.

“Alright there?”

The girl looked up. There was something unnerving about her gaze. Her eyes were a piercing blue. “I need a lift,” She said, stating the obvious.

Brendan weighed up the odds. If he agreed to help this girl, and her destination was in the next town over… His wife would flay him alive; Gracie had school tomorrow, and he knew she wouldn’t sleep until he returned. Not to mention it was against the law… His thoughts returned to Gracie. Young, innocent Gracie. This girl wasn’t much older than her. If it were his daughter here, windswept, soaked from head to toe…

He unlocked the doors. “Get in,” He said.

The girl clambered into the back seat.

“Where to then?” He asked.

“Birkenhead.”

Relief washed over him. “Well, what are the odds of that? It just so happens that I’m heading there myself.”

The girl nodded, shivering. Taking pity on the little girl, he pulled off his sweater and handed it to the her. “Here,” He said.

She took it from him, nodding her thanks.

“Let’s get going then.”

Minutes later they were back on the road and making their way through the tunnel.

“So, where exactly in Birkenhead do you need to go?”

She gave him the address; it wasn’t far from his house.

“You know,” He said as he drove, “I have a daughter around your age. Lovely girl. You may go to school with her – Gracie Woods?”

He waited for an answer. When he didn’t get one, he chuckled. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

He turned to give her a reassuring smile.

The back seat was empty. His jumper lay on the floor.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

A chill ran down his spine. Where had she gone? Was he going mad? Perhaps he had fallen into microsleep – it was, after all, nearly midnight. Yes, that had to be it. He had been thinking about Gracie and that had somehow triggered the idea of the girl on the side of the road. He laughed at himself – what kind of ten year old would be a hitch-hiker?

Still chuckling, he turned back to the road. Almost there, he thought, as rounded the tunnel’s last bend.

He hadn’t been able to see it at first – the corner had block it from his vision – but there was a strange glow in the middle of the road. He squinted, trying to make out what it was. To his horror, he realised it was a person; a young girl, to be exact, standing in the middle of the road. Her dark hair and piercing eyes were all too familiar…

Panicking, he jerked the steering wheel to the right, swerving to avoid her, making his fatal mistake. The road, slippery from the rain, caused the car to skid towards the tunnel wall. He slammed on the breaks, hoping that it would slow vechile down before it hit the wall…

I’m sorry Gracie.

It was the last thought that went through Brendan Woods’ mind.

~~

Gracie stayed up extra late that night, waiting for her father to return home. It was long after midnight; her mother had already gone to bed and it was becoming difficult to keep her eyes open.

“Gracie, there’s no need to worry. There is no ghost. The tunnel is completely safe. I’ll always be there when you wake up in the morning.”

Maybe Dad’s right, she reasoned. Maybe there was no ghost. Besides, her father had made her a promise, afterall.

Yawning, she lay down to sleep. She’d see her father in the morning, as always.

~~

He still wasn’t home the next morning.

Despite her mother’s reassuring words, Gracie could tell she was worried, and as she ate the eggs her mother had cooked, she started to have her doubts too.

She was just finishing her breakfast when the doorbell rang, and her mother went to answer. Curious, she followed her mother out. The door opened to reveal an officer standing on the other side.

“Mrs Woods? I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

~~

Gracie had been told her father had died in a car accident. According to her mother, the details were a mystery; no one had been there to witness it, afterall. The investigators had put it down to the weather conditions – he must have misjudged the turn and lost control of the car, they’d said. They all told the same story – Brendan Woods had died in a freak accident; there had been nothing unusual about it when they’d arrived at the scene. All, except one, who said he could have sworn he’d seen a young girl standing in the exit of Mersey tunnel, watching them take away the body.

Now in her teens, Gracie drives to the cemetery to visit her father’s grave every Thursday. There was a time when she had believed in the ghost story about Mersey tunnel, but that time is long gone. She doesn’t believe in ghosts anymore, just as she doesn’t believe that promises are impossible to break.

Ghosts aren’t real, she tells herself, and she almost believes it, but not quite.

Every Thursday, when she drives home, she takes the route through Mersey tunnel.

Some days, she swears she sees her father, standing just outside the tunnel entrance, hand outstretched, thumb out.

~~

Q&A?

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Hi guys!

So I’ve been wanting to do a Q&A again for a while now. As some of you may recall, last time I did a Q&A, I was requesting for questions to go on my Ask Rose page, but this time, I’d like to actually make it into a post.

However, whether or not I do this post is entirely up to you.

I’m happy to take questions invoving the Forgotten Tales, things you may want to know about myself (within reason – I won’t give away and personal information, for safety, of course) or about how I write my stories/posts/poems. I’m also happy to answer questions in character, as Rose, Ruby or Jack (but you’ll need to specify this and which character, or characters you want me to answer as).

To submit a question, you can leave a comment below or send me an email at rosemorningmist@gmail.com. Simply include your name (it can be a pen name, or you can simply remain anonymous if you wish), the question you wish to ask and who you want me to answer as – myself or as a specific character. I’m happy to answer as more as one character, or as myself as well as characters.

If I get enough questions, I’ll publish the Q&A post up around the 12th of this month, and I’m thinking I may put some of my favourite questions on the Ask Rose page, too.  🙂

I look forward to reading your questions!

Thanks,

– Rose  ❤

 

Faith’s Pixie Poetry Challenge

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Hi pixies!

So Faith (previously known as Snowflake) has decided to do another poetry challenge, and as I’m always up for a test of my creative skills, I’ve decided to participate!

Here’s the prompt this time around:

Iridessa and her fireflies

Hmmm, let’s see… I think I’ll write this poem freestyle, and from Rose’s POV!

Dusk

The last light of the day

Disapears from the sky

Now as the moon rises

The fireflies will fly

Light Talents all around

Giving them their glow

I watch as they dance and play

And wonder where they’ll go

Sitting back, I stare up

At the stary Never sky

Remembering all the times

I’d count them as a child

Sitting on the orphanage roof

With my brother by my side

We’d talk with our friends,

And sing Mum’s old lullaby

I smile at the memory

And brush away a tear

My hand clutching the gift from you;

The shell necklace I always keep near.

~~

What do you think? I didn’t really have any plan for this poem; I just kind of sat down with this music in the background and began to write, and I’m actually pretty happy with how it turned out!

If you want to participate in Faith’s challenge, you can click here to check out her post. It’s simple – you just have to write a poem based on the prompt. It can be any style you like, and feel free to check out the rest of her awesome blog whilst you’re there.  😉

Thanks for reading,

 – Rose  ❤