Today...

Today, with a smile on my face, I created the document for my new novel, Burden. These are exiting times. I'm better at writing, and this will be my first novel in 3rd person. It's kind of amazing. So, I'm really exited. As I am every time, but I'm going to just jump in and catch up on the last three days with 300 words.

*10 minutes later*

I just remembered starting is hard. And sucks. But ah, well, that is life. So I'm gonna post the epilogue here, but in the future, I think I'll to one Burden post a week, or one every time I finish a chapter.


Epilogue
The morning was bleak and sad, and a girl of about 13 sits there, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands shaking as she pulled her coat tighter around her body. She sits low, leaning up against an abandoned, old, fountain at the park. The memory of running plays in her head again, but she can’t do anything about it. Her mother kicked her out. And now, she’s alone. All she’s doing right now is waiting for him. Waiting for the man. Because no matter how hurt and missing her heart is, she knows she has a duty to her world, and to the other world. The man comes up, and the girl stands, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. They exchange a solemn look and sit down again, the man and the girl. Old and mysterious, and young and impressionable. Still they say nothing, and the man takes out a small box of dark oak wood. The girls gasps and her hands stop shaking.
“Is this it?” He nods and reaches again into his burlap satchel. The girl reaches over and picks up the box, her hands starting to shake again. She forgets about her home for a moment, just thinks about the magical feeling of what’s inside that box. The man reaches watches for a moment as she runs her fingers all around the box, smiling tears a river on her face. The box is a dark wood, with thin lines creating the image of an angel on the top of the box, and Latin words carved deeply, swirling over the surface of the box. Dunira est, defensum esse vitae lacus mundus. Melior est terra et omnes qui scire est numquam. She doesn't know what it means, but she holds onto the words anyway.The man hands her another object, a ring made of twisted silver, made into Celtic looking knots and encrusted with a few small, light, sapphires. The girl nods and slips it onto her finger.
“If you need help, look for someone, somehow, with that same ring. They will know, and they will help you. But I can never see you again.” The girl nods again, her chin up, trying to be confident. “And you know what to do with the box.” She nods for the third time, and another tear slips out of the corner of her eye.
"I know.” Her voice twitches, and she grimaces. She meant to sound strong. The man takes her wrists in his hands and turns his intense eyes onto her.
“Listen. You can’t tell anyone. Ever. You know what you must do if someone finds out right?” She nods, a memory of all the times he’s told flashes over her vision. She nods again, since it seems that’s all she can do. He starts to stand but she grabs his wrist.
“Wait.” Her voice is hoarse suddenly. Maybe it’s from the cold, maybe from the fear and determination. “I want you to say my name, just once. I never told you, but I know you know it.” How frowns and it’s his turn to nod.
“Goodbye,” He says. “Naira.”