I’m trying to spend at least half an hour a day writing or practising with writing exercises, including one I made up. Grab an photo of an object off Pinterest and write a description.
I didn’t mean to, but it morphed into the following short but sad Damon Snow fanfic. (Definitely not canon.)
Damon Snow and the Love Token
I didn’t have much coin to spend, even after months of cutting myself off from my beloved gin. The only thing the silversmith would sell me was a tiny shell-shaped locket, its copper body dimmed from being stuck in his display case so long. I polished it for hours until it shone like a freshly minted penny. The silversmith wanted it gone. The silversmith even cut his usual engraving fee. His usual uppercrust customers would rather touch hot coals than be seen with only a copper pendant. Byrne would have as well, for that matter. So I agreed to spite Byrne.
I asked him for a piece of paper. He gawked at me, then fumed when I told him he wouldn’t understand the words, but he handed over a quill and paper. I couldn’t blame him. What other lowly wretch in a tattered claret red tailcoat read and wrote? He sputtered when he saw what I had written in my best handwriting. I smirked in return.
Mon Couer Toujours Fidelle.
It seemed like it should have been a lie. It wasn’t. I might need to feed myself through my body, but I would love no one like him.
The silversmith had it ready in three days. I didn’t wait the two days until our anniversary, but wrapped it in white tissue and took it down to the graveyard. I placed the locket at the feet of Byrne’s weeping angel. Blushing furiously, I dashed away.