Into the Woods


Cat Lady of Questionable Sanity
Original poster
Posting Speed
  1. One post per day
  2. Multiple posts per week
  3. 1-3 posts per week
  4. One post per week
  5. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Female
Action-adventure, adult characters, alternate universe, anime, crime drama, cyberpunk, darker themes, drama, dystopia, eastern, edo, epic quest, fairy tale, fantasy, feudal, futuristic, grimdark, heian, high fantasy, low fantasy, magic, modern, modern fantasy, modern scifi, paranormal, psychological, romance, scifi, supernatural, urban fantasy.

"Oh," The syllable was little more than a whisper as Bella drew into herself, shoulders rising meekly towards her ears as her amber gaze fell upon the table in the wake of Landon's subtle disdain. She couldn't fathom what had dampened the usually chipper chef's spirits. How strange, especially considering the remarkable shift in Imogen's and Amarinda's temperaments! Was it due to the pie, she pondered, her stomach lurching with the fact that she hadn't eaten in hours. It really was delicious, such a shame to waste it. Bella rested one arm upon the edge of the table where the plate had just been, idly picking up the fork as though she hadn't meant not to finish.

"It's not-" The redhead started to object around a bite of pie. Perhaps the pie had nothing to do with the blond chef's temper, as she deduced from Henry's audible bitterness. Very likely, they were upset with her or the prince, or some combination thereof. Well, what was she to do? Simply forget what the prince had done and go on pretending it never happened? Such a wrong could not go unredressed; and if Jaron failed to redress it, that was on him. Bella swallowed the knot of shame and ire that balled up in her throat, chasing it with a rather sour bite of raspberry.

Speak of the devil. As if on cue, the prince arrived, bellowing from where he loomed in the shadows across the dining hall. A pall fell like a veil of mourning, graying and dimming the light bathing the very end of the grand table. The uneasy tranquility flew from the room like bats out of hell, replaced by a not-so-subtle hostility. Bella took another bite, almost determined to finish now that the others ceased to enjoy their dessert or speak. Each remaining bite she consumed with more ardor than the last, going so far as to swipe a finger over the otherwise empty plate to collect the filling and crumbs, which she licked off.

"Is that so?" Bella shifted cold eyes and narrow regard on the prince, tracing her tongue over her lips with nonchalant finality. "And what do you presume to do if I don't? Tie me to your armchair?" Her chin inclined in blatant defiance, she glared down the length of her nose at the prince. The last time he bore witness to this particular look, they exchanged petty disses in his study. He was the same prince now as he was then; he had been since he threw her book into the fireplace. Mention of the drapes briefly turned her copper head back to glimpse where they hung beyond Henry; she extended her arm, opened and closed her hand on the air, and dropped it again. "I can't; I'm afraid it's too far to reach." She chided, staring disinterestedly at Jaron with a shrug of her shoulders. Clearly, she had no intention of complying with his demands regardless of his huffing and puffing and posturing. If he hadn't addressed her so, she wouldn't even have acknowledged him.
  • Spicy
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