About this time of year (i.e., "the holidays"), my writing time starts to seriously dry up for awhile. So I'm taking a break from Acelet's neverending story to try working on a shorter project. I'm hoping this will turn out to be a short story, or maybe a novella, but we'll see what the characters decide to do with the story once I let them loose. For now, I'm simply calling this Emilie's story. It's set around 1170 in Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine's court in the palace of Poitiers. Here are a few sentences (one from each day) from the work I did on it this week.
Thursday: Had she not tucked her hands up tightly beneath her bosom, her yawning sleeves would have trailed in the rushes.
Friday: Emilie had never been a man’s wife, but had had sense enough to bury her own dreams by twenty.
Saturday: Her voice came out on a little choke, as if he had knocked the breath from her stomach, rather than merely jolting her shoulder.