01. The Auction
Bed. Roof. Food. Water. Health care. That’s what Raelyantha cares about. That’s all she cares about. She doesn’t care about the kinds of arcanum the kinds of arcanists, the kinds of spells and powers.
Bed. Roof. Food. Water. Health care. That’s what Raelyantha cares about. That’s all she cares about. She doesn’t care about the kinds of arcanum the kinds of arcanists, the kinds of spells and powers.
You want to write a story that allows readers to turn off their brains. Because they asked for it. They asked for stories that are "dumbed down." You read about it in a magazine this morning; something about 1st person point of view being 'simple.'
The thought of her owner avoiding her is crushing, a weight on her shoulders, a chain around her neck being pulled downward until she bows in shame; a supplicant begging their betters for mercy.
But the song in her head is demanding a harmony and she leaves Micarsh behind to sit on the stool in front of a large piano. Her fingers have no idea what to do, but they itch all the same to strike the keys.
Status. Hierarchy. She was not worth consideration before, not as her own person, for her own sake. But now she has status by way of the arcanist that owns her.