“How Many People Have Died To Achieve This World Domination Of Yours?” “769.” “…What?”

"No! You let him go, Drosera!" I commanded the larger than usual plant. It was taller than the highwayman and rivaling some trees in height.

"Do you know just how long I've been starving?" The Drosera nymph demanded. "Then, along comes something that I can finally eat."

"You can't eat him! Let him go!" I repeated my demand. My throat hurt like it was roughly rubbed against an oak tree's bark.

"Am I supposed to feel tingley?" the highwayman asked as the Drosera's tentacle wrapped itself tighter around him.

"How much food do you have on you?" I asked my highwayman. How could I let him die when we've gone so far already? But I also didn't know how much food he had stored away. If it isn't a decent amount, then he might starve later.

"Enough to feed this thing," he replied in a vague way. There were seedlings of worry but other than that he was sure in his choice.

"But-"

"Dump the contents out of the side that is furthest from me," he instructed while he gestured to his bag.

As I did what he ordered, I wanted to believe that there was another way. But we hadn't seen any animals since we entered the bog.

"Let him go and I'll give you three pieces," I bartered, moving the three largest pieces forward.

The nymph hesitated. It burned energy it needed to catch him and now I was asking it to burn more.

"How much energy are those worth?" it asked in a cautious tone.

"At least half of what you'd get out of him."

"I'm starting to feel a serious tingle right now and I don't like it," he called.

With great effort, the Drosera let my highwayman go. As I had promised, I gave it the three pieces of meat.

"I still feel a tingle. Is that normal?"

"Go to the creek we saw a few miles back and at least rinse yourself off. The acid is still trying to eat you," I instructed him.

Without a word, he left me with the nymph.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you haven't written in a while.

🟢 You are still a writer even when you feel like you aren't writing enough.

🟢 You are still a writer when you feel like your work isn't good.

🟢 You are still a writer when other people don't like your work.

🟢 You are still a writer when you aren't published.

🟢 You are still a writer when you only have works in progress.

🟢 You are still a writer if all you write is fanfiction.

for 2024:

read a lot and read everything

film and art and music are what builds ur soul

be outside

love and romance will not come to you any quicker if you are focused on it constantly

possessions don't improve things

movement does improve things

university is <4 years of the rest of your life - make the most of it

find the pleasure in hard work

lose the pleasure in scrolling

creation is essential

joy, love & intelligence are the tenets of life

stagnation isn't inevitable. no person is in a fixed state. you can always change

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

There are a few walks longer than the one of going to make the grave of a friend. I'm on my way to make the grave of about five thousand friends. My men were sent to scout an area and were ambushed. No one survived. As I am their king and friend, I felt every death.

Right now, the least I could do for those men and their families is at least pay tribute to them. I knew each of them like I knew my own brother. There were no better men in the kingdom than those who just lost their lives.

The Mourning Mountain isn't too far but every step feels further away from it. I want to go back to the throne room and hear that they're coming back, safe and sound. Not that some of the bodies couldn't be recovered or identified. I don't want to hear that some families wouldn't be able to bury their loved one.

At least my brother and his men are okay. They'll be back before the week is over.

"Hey, pretty girl," I murmured to the Púca I adopted when she was a small filly.

She grunted a quiet greeting before she came up to me. She grabbed a bit of the fabric on my shoulder and gave it a gentle tug.

"How long has it been since I last saw you?"

She whinnied but let go of my shoulder.

"Since yesterday?" I gave a fake frustrated sigh, "That's too long!" I hugged her around her neck. Her fur was coarser than that of other horses and ponies I've met but I wouldn't change anything about her. The other ones are nice but they aren't her.

She nudged me enough to take a small step back, reminding me why I originally came down to visit her.

"Do you want a snack?" I asked her. "Snack?"

She nuzzled me a bit harder.

"Which hand is the snack in?" She was always a smart girl.

She stood there for a moment before nudging my right shoulder. I rolled the apple to my right hand and held it out to her.

"Smart girl," I murmured as she ate the apple. I rubbed her ears just the way she likes it. "I'm going to talk to my big, fat, mean brother to see if I can't bring you into the court so I can give you all the love and rubs you want." I couldn't stop a soft chuckle. "He isn't big, fat, or mean."

The Púca I've known since she was a filly nickered in agreement. She's met my brother and likes him well enough but still doesn't like how he keeps her from me.

"You be nice to him the next time you see him, okay?" I murmured against her forehead.

How can this be? This is the fifth report that I've gotten.

"May I ask you something?" I questioned the highwayman once we stopped to rest.

"That depends on what you're asking," he mumbled as he laid back and draped an arm over his eyes.

"I have been hearing reports of periodic darkness in areas that we have traveled through." The smoothness of the stone that I was sitting on was a little bit of comfort.

"That isn't a question," he retorted. There was something off in his voice. He almost sounded like the nymphs that gave me the reports and sightings.

"Did you cause those periods of darkness over those areas?" There were a lot of things I needed to know but the first was if he was the cause of it. "There aren't any plant mages in the area to cause that and it's too far away for me to do anything like that."

"I shouldn't be the source of it, no." He sat up and rested his head against the palm of his hand.

"Is it bad? Will it be harmful to those living in the area?"

"How did you even hear about the darkness forming?"

"The plants have a complex system for communication through their roots. They talk to each other that way. The nymphs live inside the trees and they told me."

"How long does it last?"

"Almost a whole cycle."

He sat there in silence before raising his head and answering, "They don't have to be worried. It isn't anything dangerous. It'll keep happening and probably follow us. I don't know why it does but... It's nothing to worry about and they can rest during that time."

I moved so I was seated next to him. "But what is it?"

"A myth for you and reality for me."

I knew he wasn't going to say anything else about it and deadpanned, "You're helpful."

He flashed a smile as he said, "I try, sweetheart."

My highwayman and I started picking out way through an abandoned fishing village. The snow piled up was ridiculous, so much that some buildings were almost completely buried.

The sound of noise of something walking on snow made him freeze.

A clockwork soldier meandered its way around a building a little further down the lane.

"Maybe we shoul-"

"Excuse me!" I called out to the bypassing clockwork soldier.

It stopped and clicked as it turned to face both of us.

"Which hour are you?"

It clunked and clicked over to us.

"I am hour eleven," it informed me.

"Do you have anything to report?" the highwayman questioned it, his hands clasped behind his back.

The clockwork soldier gave a long spiel and all the while, the highwayman was scribbling down something. He always kept up with hour eleven.

"Thank you for your report but I need you to stay for a moment," my highwayman replied as he glossed over his notes.

"That's a bad word," I meekly pointed out one that always meant bad things.

He sighed out an agreement as he made circular movements around some markings he made.

The clockwork soldier chirped when the highwayman addressed him.

"Hour eleven, do you have access to the king at any moment?"

"When I am not active mostly but, yes, when I am active."

"Alright, I have a response to the king's proclamation."