Name: WiLdSoNg

Gender/Pronouns: she/her

Preference for Writing Style (e.g. 1st person, old-fashioned, poetry, modern, etc.) You choose!

Name:PianoMan

Gender/Pronouns:He/his/him

Preference for Writing Style (e.g. 1st person, old-fashioned, poetry, modern, etc.)You can choose, but if you can do old-fashioned that would be really cool!

@Piano Man, could you tell me if you had a specific time period in mind when you asked for old-fashioned? I'm having trouble brainstorming a time period that a piano could fit in.

@WiLdSoNg

This was partially inspired by a story idea I already had and will likely never use…

I hope you like it!:

There is a legend of a plentiful, magical valley that comes far over through mountains and rivers of eternal ice, from crystal caverns that never see the light of day. The merchants who tell of it could be showing off and inventing such a place, for who would know? They claim they are relating an echo that they heard long ago on their travels, but I know better than to believe them, for their tale is impossible.

They speak of stunning forests in the valley that are forever cloaked in autumn. The veins of the papery leaves seem to be made of pure, pure, gold and pale pink blossoms carpet the ground. The meadows are pristine, without a pointed rock or twisted branch, and stretch on for miles.

But that is not the most unbelievable part of their tale. There is a girl in the forest, they promise, crossing their hearts, not far from the treacherous snow of those mountains and rivers of eternal ice. Her hair is a dark woodsy brown and extremely long and she runs barefoot through the valley, for there is nothing to injure her. She has eyes that are dark and misty, which awake with glitter similar to the trees whenever she smiles. Creamy layers of silk make up her dress, and since there is nothing sharp that would injure the foot, she wears no shoes. All day she sings a clear, wordless melody and everything around her bursts into bloom. The birds, which are the only animals there, accompany her magic song.

And there they live, in that secret, wild valley, where magic is preserved in all of its beauty and song will reign forever.

WiLdSoNg's picturing was wonderful! Could I please have one?

Name: Amethyst

Gender/pronouns: she/her, female

Preference for Writing Style (e.g. 1st person, old-fashioned, poetry, modern, etc.) Hmm. I don't really mind? Maybe fantasy.

Special Request(s): None, really.

Thank you! :D

Name:Reuby Moonnight

Gender/Pronouns:

Preference for Writing Style (e.g. 1st person, old-fashioned, poetry, modern, etc.)1st person

Special Request(s):....idk...dark under tones. 

Name: Hawkstar

Gender/Pronouns: She/her

Preference for Writing Style (e.g. 1st person, old-fashioned, poetry, modern, etc.) ummmm Idk can you do it like you are talking about somebody else?

Special Request(s): Hawkstar is a leader sooooo

Thank you and I and looking forward to my story

Also I loved wildsong's. You have a beautiful way with words! 

@Piano Man, my apologies if this took a while! I’m sort of a slow writer. I tried to make it old-fashioned, but I don’t know exactly what time period I was aiming for in this one: 

It’s early in the morning. The large windows in the parlor are covered by heavy, deep indigo drapes and the dark wood of the furniture is smothered in shadows. All is dark, except for a ray of sunlight bouncing off of the grand piano in the corner. A grandfather clock ticks above, counting…counting…      

Just then, there is a creak on the wooden steps. A boy of twelve years tiptoes down the stairs in stockings, for the cold. He wears a white shirt with blue-gray buttons, and crisp, black pants. His hair has a tinge of copper and his eyes are based in the same palette as the drapes in the parlor.

The boy pushes the indigo cloth to the side of the windows. The sun comes dancing timidly in, revealing the dust on the volumes leaning in the bookshelves and the metallic embroidery on some armchairs.

But he has his eyes on one thing only: The piano. He sits on the bench and runs his fingers across the smooth wood of the instrument. Then he can’t resist it anymore and lifts up the lid with a clink. The sun tumbles into the parlor, on piano, boy, and all.

Quietly, he presses the first few chords, maneuvering his wrist to control the sound of them. A trickle of soft music flows through the parlor.

His hands seem to meld to the keys with joy. He continues playing and each note becomes stronger and clearer as he goes. A waterfall of beauty finds its way into the closed bedrooms, and the people in them yawn, rub their eyes, and hurry downstairs.

Sunlight now spills into the empty bedrooms. The piano stops playing downstairs, and the peaceful morning fades into a new day.

Name:luna silvermoon

Gender:she/her

Preference for writing style:third person.witchy vibes

Special request:my hair is blue and so are my eyes..i have a black talking cloak named Nightly and he will come for you if you don't include him 

@Amethyst, here is yours! Similar to before, it’s based off of various, unused story ideas. I feel that it’s more story than written picturing, since I got slightly carried away and didn’t set a word limit for myself. :

As the sun gathered colors for the twilight–blushing pinks, vivid oranges, and golden yellows–a young princess leaned against the balcony and watched. 

The girl was tall for her age of around 14 years, and she was stunningly pale from being kept indoors. She wore a tight corset, as she had for years, and it caused her to be slim and fragile, like porcelain. Her hair was nearly black and was braided in the middle with the rest of it flying loose. She had bright, turquoise eyes. A delicate crown encrusted with amethysts was her only jewelry, and her satin dress was a rich purple, with gold embroidery trimming the ends of the dress and the sleeves. There was soft braid around her waist, and a single amethyst was attached to a collar at her throat.

The princess was dignified and held her head up high to survey the kingdom she had so faithfully tended to. Her eyes teared as she reflected over the life she had lived, with success at every corner. She grasped at her hair with white fingers–her nervous habit.

An idea struck her. She straightened even more and her eyes seemed to darken–this is not what she wanted to do with her life. There was nothing that waited for her in the future–perhaps the possibility of becoming queen, but naught else. The ends of her robe rippled as she paced. There is still time, she thought, and I am still a child.

The princess set aside her crown and wrapped a dove-gray cloak around her, completely concealing her fine clothes.

No one noticed her walk into the stables and saddle a fawn-colored pony. She could not take her own, for fear of suspicion, but she stroked its black mane tenderly before mounting and riding out into the dark, lonely woods.

The sun had long since vanished behind the mountains and the night, sprinkled with stars, greeted her as she rode away. She stopped and smiled for a moment, and then turned away, ready to create her own future.

Name: Fenrir

Gender/Pronouns: female, she/her

Preference for Writing Style: hmm how about a free verse poem? (like you don't have to rhyme or, i don't know, count syllables or whatever. If you can't/don't want to, then outsider POV, pls.

Special Request(s): she is a shadow, is secretive and aloof

Thanks in advance! :)