Daily Writing Prompts discussion

Happy (almost) Thanksgiving, lovelies!! 🦃🍁
What are y'all's plans?

Here is the prompt for today (and my deepest apologies for falling behind on the last three).
~ Use these three words somewhere in your story authentically: "Melancholy," "indifferent," and "true." ~

Have a great day and happy writing! 🥰

Ooooh!

I’m just warning y’all now, mine is gonna be long- like, really, really long.

I’m excited then!

Lol.

Have fun!!

(I really love the word melancholy.)

(Me too! “I almost drowned in the melancholy”)

(Me threee)

(Well even though I learnt that word because of Taylor Swift, I also just love how it explains so many emotions or images in just one word.)
Melancholy definition: A pensive sadness, often for an unknown reason.

Its a fabulous word.

Yesss!!! Frrrrr


Taylor swift is the best English teacher

Other words I've learnt from the grace of our queen are purgatory, effervescent and I thjnk there are a few more, but they're slipping my mind.

Trying to think…

Effervescent fsss

Uhh 🤔

Mercurial (illicit affairs)

Gauche (last great American dynasty)

Yeah.

Just the way she writes her songs; very poetically and emotional. Kind of how I write a lot of my stories.

Frrr

She is the queen of music
You’re the queen of storytelling

My story is called: “A Withered Flower”
(It didn’t turn out as long as I thought it would)

Sometimes they seem indifferent to me.
To who I am… like they don’t care.
I smile to myself, but it feels bitter, even as I’m surrounded by people with nothing but false well wishes for me.
I shift through the crowd, always smiling. Always pretending.
“Nina!” They cry with wine in their hands, the light in their eyes like a reflection of the ice in the ninth circle of hell in Dante’s inferno.
Cold and biting.
I close my eyes, flashing back to that sterile room. The thin hospital gown. The endless sheets of tests and results.
“Miss Pierce,” the doctor began, his tone soft. “I’m sorry, but it’s been confirmed.”
I have cancer.
I open my eyes, I’m back here.
None of them know, the traitorous bastards would probably cheer if they did.
All they want is the money.
I slip out onto the balcony, empty wine glass dangling over the edge.
Sometimes I feel like this glass, always on the edge, always balanced precariously.
I reach out, my eyes on the glass as I let go.
I watch it fall.
And fall.
And fall.
And break, and crash, and shatter.
The glass met the stone ground two stories below and it broke, all the small pieces twinkled in the darkness.
I wonder if I would shine like that.
Probably not.
No, the broken shards are more like their glittering lies.
Beautiful but deadly.
No one heard the sound of the glass breaking, they were all too busy pretending to care for me.
No one will hear it when I die either.
I hear a creak behind me, but I don’t need to look. I know who it is.
The scent of expensive sandalwood cologne fills the air.
“Nina.” Comes Dante’s smooth voice.
He’s practiced the way he speaks. Always part charming, part threatening, and part caring.
No one can ignore him when he speaks, least of all me— his fiancé.
“Yes Dante?” I smirk with my back still to him, his mother named him after the philosopher, but if she had hoped that it would give him some aspect of the great philosopher’s mind, it didn’t.
“We should go, love.” Love? Is that what I am, I thought I was an investment. A former friend from your childhood that always belonged to you. Was always promised to you.
“I have news.” I say as his arms wrap around my waist, the warmth from his body bleeding through the thin and expensive fabric of my dress.
“Oh?” He plants a kiss on my cheek.
My mind flashes back to that sterile room, the results of my tests… the bloodwork.
“I’m pregnant.” I tell him, and he stills behind me.
It isn’t a lie, the doctor said I was nine weeks along, told me that I had enough time to carry it to term… but that would mean no chemo. No survival.
He doesn’t know I’m sick, he can’t. If he did, he would force me to kill it for my own survival.
“Is it mine?” He asks, his voice calm, like he’s asking about the weather.
“Obviously.” I sigh, it’s not like I could risk the wrath of my grandfather if I ruined his plans with a bastard child.
My child.
“Good.” Is all he says as he leads me by the hand back into the room full of masked pretenders. “Looks like we have some good news to share.”
I smile as I enter the room, and this time it’s true. Because they won’t hear me when I die, but oh how they’ll scream when their precious heiress is gone along with her money.
I rest my hand on my stomach, on the child that will be my everything.
***
My pen scratches on the paper as I sign my name on my newly updated last will and testament.
“I, Nina Selenia Pierce am of sound body and mind as I sign this document attesting to my final wish upon the event of my death. I revoke any and all wills and codicils made prior to or after this date.”
There is only one beneficiary to the entirety of my assets including all of my monetary belongings and estates.
If something were to happen to my heir, everything would be donated to a wide variety of non-profit organizations of my choosing.
I set my pen down, looking down at my growing belly.
It’s a boy, and everything will be his.
I already set up a trust with strict and unbreakable restrictions and declared my second cousin Elena as the trustee. She’s the only one who knows I’m dying and she already signed several NDA’s and legal documents in order to ensure she follows my wishes exactly.
I trust her, but money taints the pure and I won’t be risking the security of my son on a friendship that I believe to be real.
***
I still haven’t married Dante, I told him that I wanted to wait until after the baby is born. He agreed.
Although I will never marry him, I’ll die long before.
The baby is a month away from his due date. Only a month.
I’m going to die less than a week after his birth, but the only thing that grieves me is that I’ll never know my child… but he will know me.
I have diaries. I started keeping them when I was eight and never stopped.
He will know me, Dante already signed a document stating that he will never allow anyone, including himself, to destroy my diaries in any way— but he doesn’t know that.
***
It’s time.
***
Everything hurts. All I hear are the wails of a baby. My baby.
I crack open my eyes, reaching out my arms.
“Let me hold him.”
Dante places him in my arms so fast that it’s like he couldn’t bear to hold his own son.
Tears stream down my face as I hold him, but they aren’t happy tears… they should be happy tears.
All I feel is a deafening sadness. But I can’t understand why.
The prospect of death never scared me, even when I knew my child would live without me.
So… why does it feel like I’m drowning in an endless sea of melancholy.
Sobs wrack my body, and my baby begins to scream.
Someone takes him from my arms but the tears don’t stop.
Nothing stops them or the unexplainable grief that surges from within me.
I cry and cry and cry.
***
Dear diary,
It’s near the end.
I still haven’t told anyone, but they’re getting suspicious. I look pale, more pale than I should even after giving birth just three weeks ago.
And that strange melancholic feeling still hasn’t left me. I had expected it to, but no matter how much time I spend with my son, it won’t go away.
I’ve tried everything, but I still feel sad.
Still feel empty.
I’m not sleeping, but that’s by choice.
I never let the nanny’s take care of my baby.
I wake up when he cries and I soothe him until he sleeps.
We spend every hour together, and Dante is never there.
I think our son scares him.
I think I scare him.
***
Dear diary,
When I look in the mirror, I don’t see me.
I see a woman who was once fierce and beautiful and alive, but now that woman is gone.
She’s shriveled up like a withered flower.
And when I look at my baby sleeping in his hammock… I don’t know if I made the right choice.
He’s going to grow up with Dante, surrounded by vultures… I will die, and he will be alone.
Maybe he’ll hate me for my choice.
… maybe he should.
***
I gave my son a name, Alexander. After Alexander the Great… some people might say it’s a cursed name, but I don’t think so.
***
I packed up my diaries today.
I wrote three letters today.
One to my fiancé, one to the committee running my various companies, and one to my son for his twenty-fifth birthday.
The birthday on which he will receive everything.
***
I’m not going to live past today.
My son is exactly five weeks old today, and my death will mar this day forever.
I hold Alex close to my chest, breathing in the soft scent of him.
I already called an ambulance if only so that nothing happens to my beautiful baby, because I will be dead long before they arrive.
***
I am a broken glass whose shattering echo will be felt by all.
They will scream and cry and rage.
I will be cursed for what they will view as selfishness, but it won’t matter. Nothing can be done to change it, so all they can do is accept the choice of their foolish heiress.
For I am a withered flower whose petals have fallen, I cannot prick those who try to pluck me, but who would pluck one such as I am now?
Who would admire a flower that has died?
All I am is the remanentes of a life of luxury that I never wanted.
And I will listen to their anguished cries as my soul is ripped from my body, and I will smile.
I will smile.

Excited to read it, love!!

Oh my god I’m crying after that 😭😭😭

@Ophelia

This may sound evil, but I’m actually glad to hear that bc evoking sadness was my goal😅

Not evil at all

People were sobbing at my romance story 🤣

Lol
True 😆😆😆

It means it was well written

Yeah☺️

I beg books to make me cry all the time. Nothing wrong with it.

Sameeeeee