Because I felt like sharing my poor excuse for dialogue, ha.
“I’ve been getting some strange visions lately, mostly about you. I’ve seen that man you’re talking about, the one with the long white hair, and the gold eyes. I see him with you a lot in these visions.” She came around and sat on the edge of the bed with me, while the tingling salve worked it’s way into my skin.
I immediately flushed. “How much have you seen, Rissa?” My eyes went wide with embarrassment. Hers went narrow with suspicion.
“Nothing like that, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her eyes narrowed just a bit more. “What have you been doing, my little, innocent, pure white dove?” She piled on the adjectives for emphasis, and each made me feel more guilty than the last. And a little dirty.
“Nothing, I swear!” My hands went to my chest again, and I made a face. “He keeps… touching me!” My hands went palm out, and I squeezed invisible melons in the air for emphasis.
Rissa laughed, and patted my leg. “No, no… it’s nothing like that.” Her face went serious then, and she gave me a look that made me sit up a little straighter and pay attention. “I see him with you constantly, like a shadow every where you go. He hides in the dark, and watches you, and when you’re alone, his…” Her eyes went distant as she searched for the words with a motion of her hand. “His fire threatens to consume you. But I don’t think he means to hurt you, he’s just… Stuck to you somehow, weaving himself into your life.”
“So he’s real? I’m not crazy?” I asked, leaning in slightly with anticipation. Rissa apparently knew more about him than I did.
“No, he’s very real.” Her expression changed then, tightness around her eyes drawing my attention.
“What is it, Rissa? What aren’t you telling me about him?” I pressed her for more information, but she pulled away slightly, the warmth of her hand on my leg suddenly absent.
“It’s nothing you should be worried about, dove.” She stood from the bed and went to the dresser across from it, pulling out a low drawer to retrieve a neatly folded shirt, and some old jeans.
“Don’t worry about it? Rissa, he’s a demon! Do you know what the Conclave does to witches who consort with demons?! You of all people should know how they treat nonconformists!” I knew it was a mistake the moment it came out of my mouth, but Rissa paused in her movements at the dresser and turned slowly to look at me. I shrunk a little under her gaze as her jeweled artificial eye glinted and swiveled in it’s socket to stare at me. “…Sorry.” I squeaked out.
This is totally random, but I love how these things write themselves.
I’m in a point in my book were some new (late) characters are being introduced / set up for a later book, and the werewolf my witch is consulting with just happened to randomly write himself very french and good ol’ boy -ish. How fun would it be to have a cajun werewolf in Canada? Some sort of weird french hybrid culture thing going on there.
In hindsight, I’ll probably read over this later and decide it’s the stupidest thing ever, but for the moment it’s amusing. I need to learn French or something.
Writing is fun.