Word Game for Writers

Word given: Terror

"i think you misunderstand me, Hacim," i smirked, glancing down at the captive.  "we don't need lions, tigers, or bears to strike terror into the heart of this one.  She's enough like a sheep she could drown in a little rain."  i twirled my scythe around so that the pole rested on my shoulder, ready to strike down on its prey.  "i AM the terror."

hmm, new word....

how about, Alone?

She tapped a finger on the armrest of her new throne, eyes looking straight, chin tipped proudly. 

She deserved it all, didn't she? She fought and bled for what was hers, her crown and name and purpose. She should feel glorious. She should feel proud. 

But why does she only feel... Emptiness?

"You've changed, Lyra," She muttered, the hand on her shoulder tightening.

"How? You followed me to claim what is mine together, right?" She looked up, towards the starless night, unwilling to meet her eyes. She knew what she would see there. 

A pair of black, begging eyes. She hated when she had that expression. It made her feel guilty. She couldn't afford empathy or sympathy now. But she could always repair everything later. Selene would see the good in her and forgive her, and they would live together forever. Happy. 

But first she needed her crown. 

The hand on her shoulder was gone. She turned around in mild surprise to see Selena clasping her hands, eyes full with not that begging look, but with determination. 

"You promised to not slaughter innocents. You promised to never raise a hand against children. You just murdered millions of them yesterday." She knew where this was going, and she sighed in relief. She thought it was something far worse than that. Selene can't possibly ask her to raise the dead, right?

"That was a necessary sacrifice, Lene. It was to show the false queen that if she ever dare announce another stupid decree-"

"None of this has ever been necessary, Lyra!" Her sudden outburst made her recoil, Selene's black eyes now full with rage. "Millions of fathers and mothers and sons and daughters, dead, just because you disliked the false queen's decree of removing death sentences."

"Murderers and assassins live because of her decree, Lene. They deserve much worse than a death sentence. Once I reclaim my crown-"

"Aren't you the same as those murderers and assassins?" She stared at Selene, eyes widened in shock. Why would she ask such a silly question?

"Those deaths are deaths of war, Lene, necessary sacrifices for the greater good-"

"There is no good with you walking upon this earth, Lyra. You will wash it with blood instead." Her voice was deadly quiet. What was it with her today? That was the exact opposite of her intention, and she knew it.

"Lene-"

"Do not call me Lene anymore, Princess Lyra. I am not your lover nor your advisor anymore, starting from now. I am just a traveler."

With that, she left, never looking back. 

Just like Tyron and Jonathan and Elijah and Ashley. 

She didn't call for her to come back, just like she didn't call them to come back. 

If they can't see the sacrifices she made for the greater good, for a better world, they don't deserve to be at her side. 

No. She was not lonely, and they were traitors to the crown. Once she solidified her reign, she would hunt them down and feed them to the rats. 

She was not a lonely or a heartless queen, like her mother, nor a weak and cowardly queen, like the false queen. 

She would be Queen Lyra the Defender, and she would destroy anyone that dares touch her walls. 

But why does she feel so empty?

(This was way longer and worse than I expected)

Next word: Dance

Hank glared at him. Evan, who had had years to build up an immunity to his brother’s glares, just beamed back. “You’re a stick-in-the-mud, Hank. Not my fault. Go learn to dance or something.” 

Hank raised an eyebrow, glare fading in favor of apparent amusement at the idea of him dancing. “That’s the hobby you’re going to suggest?” 

“You’re too serious to enjoy yourself. But if you do something embarrassing, I will be able to enjoy myself for the both of us.” 

“You’re an ass.”

New word: Patch

"Scott, what's that on your arm?" Marcus asked, with a shit-eating grin as he walked into the room. 

For whatever reason, Scott gave the pun-maker, a straight answer. "A rash." He said with a sigh as he turned the page of a book. Scott couldn't remember what the book was about, or what it was even called, but then again he had other things on his mind. "Had some trouble with some poison ivy while I was out camping a few days ago." He added as he set the book down, turning his gaze to look at his friend.

Marcus snickered, "How bad is it?"

Scotts eyes narrowed, Marcus was enjoying his pain way too much. "Bad, that crap got everywhere."

A laugh escaped Marcus, "So you could say you're rather patchy right now. You belong to the Apache. You're on the Patch?"

A groan left Scotts lips as his head fell back. "No. Gods, Marcus shut up. Yes to the first, no to the second, I'm not native American, you know this. As for the third no. Just a big no."

Another snicker. "I didn't mean that you were native American, Scott, I meant that you're a horse."

"Why would I be a horse? That doesn't even make sense!"

"Think about it you two have a lot in common."

Scott decidedly did not want to think about it.

New Word: Wire.

Zoeya wove the wires into the shape of a crown, and placed it upon the little girl's head. 

 "Now you can be a queen just like Roseverre, except nicer." She said.

 Liara smiled, and nodded. "Rosie used to make me paper crowns and say I was her favourite little sister. But now she just... Ignores me."

New Topic: Thorns