/lit/ - Literature

It was a fine winter's morning in Magorum's Academy for the Magical Arts that fateful February dawning. Ice trickled from the trees as the robins sang their mating songs for the season's turn. Spring crept around the corner and the world was waking once more to the green calling. Fleets of snow melted to puddles, the flower buds bid their blooming, and the girls of the Academy were in a bustle to pick dance partners for the coming Spring Festival. A once-in-a-year's opportunity to take the hand of that special someone for a spin on the dance floor.
But for some – like me; this also means holding down one's status. A festival dance was not only an event – it was a statement. Whoever you took reflected your image. As a fine sword needs a fine sheath. A fine lady needs a fine gentleman by her side.
And I, like any noble girl attending, was of no exception to this rule. In fact, my beauty is the reason for the rule. Otherwise it'd be unfair to the lesser girls without it. Pathetic really…
A dawning like this is always aloof with activity, now that all the worthiest fellows have been taken. It was a rush to pick out the last nuggets of worth still available, lest one got stuck with coal - the “normal” fellows: tree trunks, pie munchers, dwarves, lowborns, and ‘sensitive’ creepers.
Luckily for me, such petty pickings were never in my vocabulary. I am Elvira, am I not? A Perrington to the core, fifth of the line, and the youngest (and fairest) of three sisters – who were both unbearably ugly in comparison to myself. But I do not blame them, I do not blame anybody. I was gifted by the Watcher, perfect since birth. My beauty shames princesses, my talents humble grand casters, my wealth makes peasants slobber and drool. I cannot blame anybody for their imperfection. For everybody was born imperfect – but just not me.
Unfortunately, not everyone sees that. Idiots like my boyfriend Devon, who I have reasonable instinct to assume is holding an affair behind my back. Honestly. Just because he’s the most powerful duellist in the Academy; doesn’t give him right reason to cheat on me: the best dam thing that’s ever happened to that class-skipping, rule-breaking, fist-fighting, arm-flexing, pec-twisting, lock-flowing, eye-meltin- goodness where was I again? Oh yeah, cheating.
I strolled out into the school courtyard at earliest light. Morning breeze caressed my face with an icy sharpness. I had forgotten that snow was late to leave for spring’s coming and it certainly didn’t get any warmer on the way out.
“Drats it's cold!” my teeth chattered on their own. I rubbed my cheeks with a cute pair of deerskin gloves, grandmother stitched last winter. They always seem to do the trick at keeping my little hands dry and fuzzy, no matter the weather.

(RATE MY YA)

It was a fine winter's morning in Magorum's Academy for the Magical Arts that fateful February dawning. Ice trickled from the trees and the robins sang their mating songs for the coming season. Spring was just right around the corner and the world was starting to wake once more to the green calling. Fleets of snow melted to puddles, the flower buds bid their blooming, and the girls of the Academy were in the market of picking dance partners for the coming Spring Festival. A once-in-a-year's opportunity to take the hand of their prince charming for a spin on the dance floor.
But for some girls - this also meant holding down one's status.

A heirarchy needed to be laid down and only the best of the best deserved their place at the top. A season's festival dance was not only an event – it was a statement. Whoever you took reflected your image, as a fine sword needs a fine sheath. A fine girl needs a fine boy by her side. Elvira, like any noble girl attending, was of no exception to this rule. Infact, she is the reason for the rule. Otherwise it just be unfair without it.

Elvira strolled out into the school courtyard. Morning breeze caressed her face with an icy sharpness. She rubbed her cheeks with deerskin gloves and cursed her decsion to be outside.

“Drats it's cold!” her teeth chattered. “That blockhead better not be late if he knows what's good for him!”

The mini clocktower in the middle of the yard's sqaure read a strict six o'clock, the arms lined tightly to their numbers, a small chime rang the new hour. She had snuck out of bed early for a lover's randeavouz with her boyfriend, Devon; the Academy's most talented duelist, and not too shaby of a looker either. Girls fawned and fell head over heels for his attention, but of course no girl is as pretty as Elvira. Not then, not now, and not ever. If Elvira wants it – she gets it, and boys are no exception. Devon's eyes did suit her Spring Festival dress after all, it was important that he stuck around her until then.

“Ugh, this better be worth it!” she moaned then rubbed her hands with a cloak of breath.

*Keep fighting, girl! You only gotta hold out till the festival anyways – then it's bye bye Dev-ugh, and helloooo Brandon; potion master of looove! March can't come soon enough...*

A rose bush rustled from across the yard, the snow shook off it's leaves. Tufts of gold hair emerged from the brambles followed closely by pupils of sapphire, peeking from the cover of nature.

“Pssst!” Devon hissed quietly. “Elvira! Elvira is it clear?!”

Elvira threw her arms asunder. “Yes you dolt, now get over here already!”


Looking both ways, Devon lightly tip toed from the bushes, unaware that his fur boots made no sound in the brimstone. He wasn't the brightest caster in the coven after all.