1
Garen
The rain beats against the large windows, which normally have an amazing view of Corvid Valley down below. But today, I stare out at a thick fog; with raindrops decorating the window panes. The steam coming from my fresh cup of tea tells me that I will probably burn the top of my mouth if I take a sip. And the fire roaring beside me warms me as I work, the cursor blinking on the screen.
Closing the laptop, I toss it on the couch beside me and rub my face with a groan. This writer's block has hit me longer than usual. It's not like I need the money, but my readers expect a new addition to my epic fantasy series every December. And the last thing I want to do is disappoint them. But at this rate, I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to pull it off this year.
Standing, I walk over to the window and stare out at the dreary day. Fitting weather for the last days before spring arrives. But I think it's giving me a bit of cabin fever, which is rare for me. I'm usually happy living my secluded mountain-man life.
My navel-gazing is interrupted by a knock at the door. Who could be out in this weather?
Swinging the door open, I find my orc mailman, Gavin, standing on the doorstep, water dripping down his dark green skin.
"Come in, get out of the rain," I say as he shakes his head, handing me a package.
"Nah, no thanks, Mister Sterling. I just didn't want to leave your package out in this weather," he says.
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Garen?"
"Garen and Gavin, say that 10 times fast," he quips before tipping his hat to me and heading back to the mail truck as rain pelts down on him.
I close the door behind me and put the wet package down on the entry table, easily opening it. It's the toner ink I ordered a few weeks ago that took its sweet time getting to me up here on the mountain. I leave the box where it is and head back into the living room to grab my tea.
As I sip it, I walk aimlessly from room to room, mulling over the scene I am stuck on. The words refuse to come, but the frustration fades as the sound of rain follows me through each room. Writer's block or not, I do love it up here.
When my twin, Olympia, and I inherited our grandfather's billions in our late thirties, she instantly opened up an art commune down the mountain in Corvid Valley, a dream of hers since we were teenagers. She and her wife have flourished down there and have made quite a name for themselves beyond just the crunchy art types. She's actually hosted a few celebrities and their friends. What fills her bucket would be torture for me, but I am glad she has found her calling.
So while Olympia took her share of the inheritance and did something relatively social with it, I instead built my dream cabin up here on Ravenhart Mountain and have lived a perfectlychill hermit life ever since. After a couple of years of living the quiet mountain man life, I started my secret pen name for my epic fantasy series. Olympia and her wife, Ruth, are the only two who know about it, and that's the way I want to keep it. My fans are rather rabid about the books, which is wonderful to experience from the comfort of my own home. In person? No, thank you.
Slumping back down on the couch, I reach to grab the laptop when my phone rings. Picking it up, I see that it's my twin.
"You must be loving this weather," Olympia says as a greeting.
"Kind of, but I'm actually feeling a little stir-crazy today," I grumble.
"My loner brother is going stir crazy on a rainy day? It must be opposite day," she teases.
"I don't know; I'm just having a terrible bout of writer's block. It's kind of driving me bonkers."
"Well, you know what I was thinking," she says, and I can hear a hint of mischievousness in her tone.
"Lord, what?"
"Well, we just celebrated our fiftieth birthday last month, and it dawned on me you didn't hold up your end of the deal."
"My end of the deal? What on earth are you going on about?"
"Remember when we took that trip to Alaska after Mom and Dad's accident?"
"Um, yeah," I say, as realization washes over me.
"Well, we both said we would find true love and be married by fifty. And I held up my end of the bargain."
"She sure did!" I hear her wife, Ruth, playfully call out in the background, making my sister giggle.
"I sort of gave up on that, sis," I mutter.
"Why?" Olympia asks, actually sounding a bit irritated.
