I'm so sorry -- I've been on holiday for a little while, and I haven't been writing a whole lot. When I could find the time to write (which was usually in the car), I tried my best to devote it to my novel to meet my word goal, so I hardly spent any time on this. Now that I'm back, I'll try and share these chapters more often (hopefully at least one a week, but we'll see); thank you all for being patient. ~ First: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/854964808/ Previous: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/860442368/ Next: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/871541202/ ~ Age rating: 11+ (basically just as long as you're a mature reader) ~ Mother had believed that heroes are pollutants, that they will scar you forever if you let yourself get too close to one. She wanted me to believe it too. “Ravynne,” she would nearly purr in a deep, chiding voice which I hated. It’s the kind of voice she would use on me when she was telling me what to think, what to be, which was nearly always the kind of person that I hated and never wanted to be. “You must never become one of them. You are one of us, remember?” “I know, Mother,” I would always respond, hanging my head in shame and apology. But apologies make you weak. Villains aren’t meant to say sorry; they’re meant to hold their head high and act as if we’re above all the rest — because we are. That was what she would tell me. “What’s your name?” I had asked the girl, before I had gotten a chance to know her and love her like I later would. “Emberleigh,” she had said, quickly frowning with distaste, her nose crinkling as she did. “I have no idea what my mom was thinking when she named me. It’s such a mouthful!” I had nodded in agreement, but I couldn’t help but to wonder what it might be like to have something so trivial to complain about instead of something so large to keep inside. “It’s a pretty name,” I had told her, trying to reassure her, because it was. “Most people call me Em,” she had continued. “Like the letter.” She had turned, and the sunlight had caught her bright hair, and her eyes glinted in such a way that made it look like she was playing with me, like a cat would its prey. “What’s your name?” I’d at least heard of enough heroes to be fully aware of the fact that my name doesn’t sound like one of theirs. If I had wanted to become a hero with her, I would have to change that, too. I couldn’t keep anything of my life before if I had wanted the life I was trying to make. “Kaitlyn.” My voice hitched a little at the end, and it sounded more like a question than I had intended it to. Em had watched the birds in the verdant foliage, their elegant wings fluttering, showing each one of their vibrant feathers. If they were ravens, that would have been a dead giveaway. I’m not a hero, am I? Heroes shouldn’t have to fake who they are to become one. She had tossed the tiny stone which had caught her attention earlier in my direction. “Catch.” The thing spun in the air for a few moments before I had reached up my hand to grab it, but Em had beat me to it. Her face broke out in a smile when she did. She always did love the competition, didn’t she? She made me love the game too. But at some point, you’re not the master of the game, the maker of the rules. Sometimes you’re the losing player.
