The fifteen minute novel writing experiment is an attempt to write a complete (and very rough) draft of a novel by writing for fifteen minutes each day. I have taken a timed writing from one of the daily prompts done in 2021, cleaned it up a little and used it as my jumping off point into a story. Each day I will take the last line of the story written the day before and use it as my sentence starter and write for fifteen minutes, growing the story as the year progresses.
Day 208: ‘Why would lord Mathis want this?’ Anya wondered.
‘Why would Lord Mathis want this?’ Anya wondered. There was nothing about the estate that made it look like something Lord Mathis would crave.
‘But I guess I don’t know him very well,’ Anya admitted to herself. She knew that Lord Mathis wanted power and he wasn’t to concerned with killing people to get it. It was after all why he had her locked in a tower trying to get her magic to surface. Other than that, she knew very little about the man.
Looking around though, Anya couldn’t see how this place, this Fairweather Estate would give him any power. ‘I still hope the king doesn’t give it to him,’ Anya decided. She knew it was petty to not want Lord Mathis to get what he wanted simply because he wanted it, but given the trouble he caused her, she was alright with the feeling.
‘It’s not like I am going around telling the king not to give Lord Mathis the estate anyway,’ Anya decided. ‘It’s petty without action.’
Anya smiled imagining herself going to the young king.
‘I’m sorry your majesty, I know you don’t know me but I don’t like Lord Mathis. Could you please make sure he doesn’t get the Fairweather Estate.’
Anya shook her head at the amusing image and let it slide. She knew she would more than likely never meet the king of Rulash and if she did she would be considered so far beneath him that even saying a word to his footman would be considered rising above her station. The king would deal with Lord Mathis as he saw fit and there was nothing she could do about it.
‘So I can think all the petty thoughts I want,’ she decided.
As Anya decided that in this case it wouldn’t hurt to give into her less than finer feelings, she heard footsteps. Anya struggled to figure out where they were coming from. She looked around but could see no people. No one approaching. Finally she pin pointed where the steps were coming from and saw two figures crouched by the edge of a doorway. They were peering into the overgrown courtyard.
Anya studied them. The pair looked travel worn and tired. The taller was an older man; he had a head full of white hair and used a walking stick. Anya wasn’t certain if the walking stick was decorative or if it was necessary. When they moved, he didn’t seem to put a lot of weight on it. The other was a young man about her own age. The boy frowned and stopped in the shadows of the doorway, urging the old man to stop.
“There is no one here Ramal,” the old man said with amusement. “There hasn’t been for a long time.”
“I still feel someone watching, Granddad,” Ramal replied.
The old man’s amusement faded and he fell back to the shadows with Ramal. “Feel or feel,” he asked the boy. The old man put extra emphasis on the second feel clearly distinguishing the two even if Anya could see the difference.
“Feel,” the boy replied.
“Look then,” he said. The old man’s eyes scanned the tangled remains of the growth in the courtyard. Anya watched and the boy’s eyes began to glow.
“There,” Ramal said. He pointed directly at Anya.
Ten til Midnight 