The squirrel won the war, and the wench ruined the carrots.
—opening line attempt 1
Will you please move your spiky bum elsewhere?”
Two big, shrewish eyes stared back up at me in reply, not budging an inch.
“I swear to the Goddess, I will toss you outside if you don’t move this instant.” I pointed to the open attic window, a gentle breeze billowing the curtains. Even if I did throw him, the plunge would be harmless. Just a few seconds in the air, then into the rosemary bushes below. Though even with the cottage being over twelve feet high, he didn’t respond to threats.
I took a steadying breath and, in a cloying voice, said, “Warty, my dearest and only companion, will you please remove your body from my inkwell so that I may write this morning?”
He didn’t move. He. Kept. Staring.
The lines I’d written this morning stared back up at me, too. I already despised them.
Most stories end with a happily ever after. But mine? Well, it begins with one.
Who spoke like that? Simply no one. I rubbed at my temples, warding off the headache creeping its way into my skull like unwanted ivy.
Did I feel like I was already living my happily ever after? Indeed, I did. But a book beginning with an ending? That just wouldn’t do.
My second try wasn’t any better.
Most stories end with a happily ever after. But mine? Well, it begins with one.
Fire blazed in the sky. Thousands of murky shadows flew overhead, breathing death into the realm.
I suppose dragons weren’t the worst way to begin a story. But I couldn’t quite imagine how that tale might unfold, considering an ornery hedgehog had crawled into my inkwell and refused to remove himself. Maybe this was his way of telling me to stop trying to write anything exciting and stick to what I knew. The balled-up parchment mountain in the corner of my bedroom might concur with him.
But a gardener has to havesomethingto do that isn’t digging in the earth. My entire life’s work was considered to be other people’s hobby. Thus, I’d taken up writing. Or Iwouldif my hedgehog would stop ruining the morning with his stubbornness.
I braced my hands on both sides of my ancient writing desk, careful to avoid where the wood had begun to splinter, andleaned in close to Warty. Our noses touched; he blinked. The fresh parchment from this morning was now pinned underneath my dress, and I sighed as I remembered the ink had not yet dried. Excellent; another garment irrevocably stained.
Frustration took over, and I prepared myself for a proper squabble, but a loud clunk stopped me in my tracks. I straightened. Warty even gave a small wiggle, sloshing more ink onto the desk and my dress. Did something fall?
I glanced around in search of the culprit. Everything remained in its proper place… as proper as my bedroomcouldlook.
I meticulously cared for my garden, the kitchen constantly shined, but my bedroom held another story altogether. Abandoned yarn in all colors spilled out of my desk drawers, empty water jars sat on the bedside table, dog-eared books lay half-read on the planks of wood I had nailed into the wall as makeshift bookshelves, and the evidence of my brief painting phase was permanently etched onto the cottage walls forevermore. My armoire was only slightly neater, but only because my wardrobe comprised three outfits in total—Ihatedtoo many options. Even so, those few articles of clothing were strewn on my desk chair more often than not.
Good thing only Warty and I ever saw it.
Warty and I and whatever made that sound…
Unease laced its way up my spine. No one could beinthe cottage. Surely something had fallen, nothing more. Nevertheless, I grabbed a knitting needle and stuffed it into my dress pocket before poking my head upside down through the attic floor’s opening into the room below. The world went topsy-turvy, but no assailant nor monster could be seen.
They wouldn’t have had a place to hide anyhow. There was just a small, simple kitchen and a hearth downstairs.
I was being ridiculous. A monster or murderer in the town of Moss? Simply unheard of. The most nefarious crime here came from not paying your book-lending fines in a timely manner.
I let out an exasperated laugh and pulled my head back into my bedroom just as a rock sailed through my window—a spray of rocks, actually. They clattered all over the room, knocking books off of shelves and tumbling over my empty water jars, a few managing to hit me, too. I yelped, covering my head with my arms.
Warty bolted out of the inkwell and into the parchment mountain; crumpled balls of paper rolled everywhere. I scrambled to my feet, racing to the window, only to duck so as to avoid the next gaggle of rocks.
“Stop it!” I yelled, shielding my eyes from the onslaught of pebbles.
“Clara! You’re up!”
“Yes, of course, I’m up you—”Imbecilesquirmed on the tip of my tongue, but I figured I should uncover my eyes before I threw that type of insult around.
