3 Things I Shouldn’t Have Done

I did some thinking and asked myself how I’d come to a place of not wanting to write stories for the past two years. Were there things I could have done differently? Well, I found three—three things I shouldn’t have done from the start.

1. Sacrifice joy
As much as perseverance is important in honing your craft, so is joy. For many years, I believed that consistency was the key to success, and yes, it did lead to some important milestones in my authoring journey. But, consistency shouldn’t rob me of the joy in creating. If I hadn’t forced myself to be consistent, even when I was creatively drained, I wouldn’t have dreaded the thought and act of writing. I wouldn’t have lost my passion for writing.

2. Set arbitrary goals
When I started writing, I told myself to complete ten titles before I turned thirty. The reason? None. It was ‘just because’. And even though I was called prolific during the years where I kept releasing novels and novellas almost on a yearly basis, I began feeling the pressure to deliver a promise I’d made to myself on a whim. It may have come from an ambitious place, but it wasn’t worth the feeling of being not-good-enough when I couldn’t accomplish my goal. And, guess what? I had only written nine titles when I turned thirty, three years ago—I haven’t written another title since.

3. Write for the millions
There’s nothing wrong in wishing to be read by millions—one should dream and dream big. But the goal of being read by many shouldn’t distract you from creating. In the past years, I had been pitching my novel, Whispers of the Wind, in hopes of having it traditionally published for wider distribution. And while I was pitching, I decided to put writing on hold because I didn’t see the point of creating when I’d yet to sell my current novel. I stopped writing for the possibility of a million readers, when I should’ve kept writing for the one. Today, I’ve decided to write for the one, because one reader is worth writing for.

These three lessons have certainly changed the way I view my passion for writing and storytelling. And I hope, if you’re in this same journey, that my past experiences are helpful to you, too. After all, passions are hard to come by, and we wouldn’t want to lose them at the risk of never finding them again.

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I Lost My Passion For Writing

The last time I posted a story on this blog was on November 27th, 2020. That was over 2 years ago. Since then, I’ve not written a single story.

To be honest, I kind of lost my passion for creative writing. Since I started this blog in 2011 up till 2019, I had been posting stories and/or some form of content every single week. And, before I knew it, it became a chore. I felt like I needed to write stories and did so, even if it no longer brought me joy. It’s safe to say, that after trying to return to this space in 2011, I still couldn’t find the excitement and passion I once had for creative writing.

Then, just yesterday, I felt a strange tingle in my chest—a desire to return to writing stories again. Perhaps, the daily grind of copywriting and editing has sparked a longing to tell stories once more. And though I may be a little rusty on the creative ‘storytelling’ front, I’m ready to get back to it… with a few projects in mind. But, before I start a new chapter, I have to close another.

As of this post, The Battle for Oz and The Slave Prince will no longer be in print distribution. However, I’ve spoken to my publisher and we’ve decided to continue digital distribution with a price slash. That’s right, both books are now only 0.99$ for the digital copies! So if you’re interested in checking them out, head over to Amazon or Barnes & Noble to dive into those adventures.

Now with that chapter closed, I suppose I’m ready to embark on a new adventure! And if you’ve read this far, thank you for still being here. I will announce where I’m headed with my writing soon, and this time… I promise both you and myself that I won’t go AWOL again. 

New Adventure: The Return To Eklaysia

A New Role-Playable Sequel!

Oh yes, you probably didn’t see this coming, and… neither did I. What is this and where can you get it? Let’s start at the beginning—I’ll keep it short, don’t worry.

It all begin in the middle of last year, while the pandemic kept everyone indoors, that I found myself in my first ever D&D (Dungeons and Dragons) campaign. I didn’t think I would find a new hobby of which I truly enjoy and look forward to, but after a few months in, D&D was life! And, with that enthusiasm, I decided to create my own campaign based on my YA fantasy novel, The Slave Prince.

So why did I base it off my novel? Well, I thought it would be fun—for myself and my existing readers—to breathe new life into The Slave Prince with a sequel. And since I didn’t want to write a new novel, I turned it into a D&D campaign. But… I didn’t just create it, I played it, too!

As an author who loves to plan, being a DM (dungeon master/game master) wasn’t easy—I couldn’t prepare myself for everything that was about to happen. But the experience of DM-ing my own campaign was a new and interesting experience, and I can only wish I had the chance to be a player myself. Alas, what fun would it be as a player who knew all the #spoilers?

Now, I promised to keep this short didn’t I? After creating and playing my own D&D campaign, I’m now releasing it to public for free. If you’ve read The Slave Prince, this role-playable story will allow you to embark on the sequel as a character yourself. But… if you’ve NOT read The Slave Prince, this stand-alone adventure will give you a glimpse of the original tale without having to buy the book. Though, I won’t deny that reading The Slave Prince will give you the lore you may need to enhance the adventure as a DM.

Do note that this is my first D&D campaign—I’ve never written a campaign before, but I did my very best to provide everything a DM/GM will need. So feel free to add your own touch to the story, and I would really appreciate any and all feedback should you give it a try.

HOW TO DOWNLOAD FOR FREE:
1. Head over to gum.co/TheReturnToEklaysia.
2. Type ‘0’ into the ‘Name A Fair Price’ column, then click ‘I Want This’.
3. Fill in your email address, and… you’re done! The pdf and digital assets will be sent to your email.

In the pdf, you’ll not only find the story but location and non-playable character descriptions, the realm map (from the original novel itself, hand-drawn by John Robin), and puzzle assets.

I do hope you have fun with my little role-playable sequel! And… if you’re interested in checking out The Slave Prince, here’s all you need to know:

GET YOUR COPY NOW!
Inkshares
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Book Depository

For fifteen years, Thom believed he was a prince of Alpenwhist. He had climbed the castle turrets to survey his kingdom, learned to duel with the sharpest blades, and stirred up palace intrigue in disguise. But one day his identity is suddenly shattered by the revelations of a blind woman: he learns that he isn’t a prince at all, but a wretched slave.

In a kingdom where ruthlessness is part of everyday life, Thom fears this new truth could be deadly. He takes flight, running from the life he knew and the one he despises, but the call to free his people beckons him home. Armed with a magic stone that instructs him through surreal visions, he must topple his once beloved brother who has since become a tyrannical king.

Looks Like… I’m Back!

It has been a little over 3 months since I last posted on January 28th, and boy, does it feel like I’ve been gone for a lifetime!

To be honest, after close to 9 years of posting weekly, I began to feel a little burned out last year. Of course, posting weekly wasn’t the only reason why I was no longer inspired—2020 was the year I transitioned from employed to self-employed, where I had a few business ideas and partnerships that flopped, and… well… the pandemic in general. The accumulative effect of all that transpired in the last year made 2021 feel like an extension of it. And perhaps, I just lost my drive to keep writing for this blog—one that I’ve spent many years building. But, the good news is…. I’m back! And, I’ve also gotten my first dose of vaccine!

With that being said, however, there will be one minor change in how I blog from now on. For many years, I made posting here a ‘job’. After all, I found myself feeling guilty whenever I missed a week. Hence, to find the joy in blogging, storytelling, and creative writing in general, I’ve decided not to impose the ‘once a week’ rule upon myself. Additionally, I will kickstart this renewed blogging spirit with the final story of 12 Genre Months—that I didn’t publish last December, nor write for that matter—this month. Yes, it’s time to get back to writing!

Oh, and to all who stuck around in my absence, thank you so very much! Oddly enough, I’ve been getting traffic and new subscribers in the past few months… of which I’m quite confused about since I’ve stopped posting for a while. But thank you, nonetheless, for joining me here. I do hope you will stay onboard as we embark on a ‘new’ blogging adventure together!

Spliced [12 Genre Months]

‘500,000 dollars or she dies. Call the police and she dies. You have until Sunday.’

I can end our marriage here—call the police or fail to prepare the money, either way, it’s my ticket out. I won’t have to spend a single cent on our divorce, and I’ll benefit from her life insurance. Is this a blessing in disguise?

No, don’t judge me. I can sense your disapproval, as if you have any clue on what my wedded life has been like. From the second I roll out of bed to the moment I shut my eyes, I am living in a nightmare—no meat, it’s bad for my health, no going out on the weekends, I have to help around the house, no guys night out, it didn’t include her. The last one is the straw that broke the camel’s back. And to think she was always accepting of my friends, and the time I spent with them, before we said, ‘I do’. So what changed? Nothing did. It was all an act—a ploy to tie me down and keep me from the rest of the world.

So, should I call the police or… play pretend? Which choice will make me a victim—lest I become a suspect in her death—as I weep over my wife’s lifeless body? You’re right, I should call the police. After all, where would I find five hundred grand? I’m not the one with the money.

‘You called the police. Do you think this is a joke?’

A blood-caked ear in the mail—the police dusted the letter and the severed organ for fingerprints, but came back with nothing. Yes, it was her ear. Whoever that’s holding my wife hostage knows what they’re doing. And, I’m kind of glad. It would mean she will never return. Unfortunately, I can’t celebrate just yet. The police have devised a plan—two black duffle bags of fake hundred dollar bills. We are to wait for the kidnapper’s next letter, as they haven’t yet disposed of my wife. But honestly, what difference will it make? If only I didn’t have to play along.

‘Drop the money under the slide in the playground on fifth avenue.’

I did what I was told but found another letter by the slide. The letter tells me where my wife is. Apparently, she’s at her family’s holiday home outside of town. But… that’s not the weird part—the letter tells me to go on my own. It says, if I tell the police where she is, I’ll find her dead. As bizarre as that sounds, it only makes sense to show the police the letter, right? I mean, we both know I want her gone.

No? Don’t tell the police? You do have a point—they’ll start to wonder why I’m not out of my mind, making rash decisions, because I’m desperate to save the love of my life. Very well, I’ll go to the holiday home on my own. I’m sure I can sneak away. Let’s hope the kidnapper sees the counterfeit dollars and kills my wife before I get there.

‘Wine cellar.’

How nice of them to direct me to her. At this point, I do think I should call the police. I am here, after all. By the time they get here, it will all be over. And, if my wife is alive, I just wasted my only chance at being free of this marriage. I’ll call-

No? What do you mean, no? It’s over anyway. So why bother any longer? Wait, I think I hear something. I think… there’s someone else in the house.

‘500,000 as promised.’

That was easy. Who knew he would listen to you? Well, I’m just as surprised as you are. Make good use of the money. And yes, I won’t forget. Just send me a postcard when you’re ready. Also, you might want to get a sharper blade—trust me, two bottles of wine doesn’t help.

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12 Genre Months © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Black Holes & Brobdingnagians [Music Meets Story]

The ghastly one-eyed beast, towering at the height of ten average adventurers, charged toward me with a deafening roar. Teeth-baring in fury, its viscous saliva rained over the bodies of my deceased allies. And as the only remaining fighter, dashing for the exit of the grotto as the earth trembled beneath my feet, I wondered—how did we travel this far, only to meet an early demise? Would it matter if I defeated the colossal Brobdingnagian, now fueled with godlike wrath from its second wind? Was it even possible… to survive?

We should have stayed at Donjon, where the only battles were with crudely armoured bandits and the occasional city guards. But, Gwendolyn insisted we travelled through the black hole—‘a magical artifact that could raise the dead’ was her promise of the beyond. Unfortunately, she had been pulled apart by those monstrous hands, before she could even lay her starry eyes on the prized item.

“Take on a giant, they said. It will be fun, they said,” I muttered under my breath. “We are too weak for this.” I skidded to a halt at the mouth of the cave, where a cliff presented the longest fall to one’s death. “Stupid. Idea. Stupid. Stupid. Idea,” I cursed in between breaths.

“Stupid indeed,” an echoing voice, from within the depths of the cave, replied. “Are you going to jump?” The voice sniggered.

“No, I’m not crazy,” I snapped.

“Well…”

“This wasn’t my idea,” I said, glancing at the lifeless dismembered figures strewn inside the behemoth’s lair. “I don’t want to die. Not yet.”

“Well… if you stand there, you will.”

The voice was right—the cold-blooded devil now stood ten feet away. Reaching for me, I slid from its crushing grasp with a forward roll before pulling an enchanted arrow from my quiver. Lining it up on my bow, I aimed for the single green eye on the giant’s malformed face. I knew I had to make the shot—it was all I had left.

“Are you sure about this?” the voice asked, almost patronising in tone.

“Yes. Just…” I steadied my hand. “You…” I inhaled a deep breath. “Wait.” I released my one and only shot.

As the arrow whizzed through the air, I could almost envision the perfect bullseyes. Oh, how epic it would be when my arrow ruptures the enormous cornea. Alas, instead of piercing the menacing eye, my arrow struck the brute on its forehead. As anti-climatic as that was, the dead would have turned in their graves at the mere inch of inaccuracy… if not for the grasping brambles that burst forth from the bleeding wound. The prickly stems wrapped themselves around the monster’s head with its magical might, injecting potent purple poison deep into the skull of my foe.

Instinctively, the beast reached for the scrambling shrub in attempts to free itself from the coils of death. But no, escaping magic wasn’t easy. Its fate was now up to luck—the luck… of a dice roll. After all, the slaughter of my entire party was at the hands of fate—even if they, themselves, were the ones to toss the dice poorly.

“A strength check, right?” the voice asked.

“Yes.”

“And your DC?” the voice prompted.

“Just roll,” I said with a smug grin.

The dice rattled in the silence as an anticipation settled in the air. And in that split moment, I wondered if I had been overly confident. Did I make the right decision? Should I have used a different arrow? Still, it was fate that decided the outcome of the battle.

“Doesn’t matter what your DC is,” the voice stated. Then, with a chuckle, it added, “Natural one.”

The Brobdingnagian’s head began to enlarge, ballooning as the poison pulsed through its veins. And just as the giant took its last choking breath, its head exploded from the inward force of magic. Thick wine-red blood splattered in all cardinal directions, coating my armour in the remains of the once unbeatable enemy.

“That would smell for a few days,” the voice stated.

“I don’t care,” I replied. “Now, I need to revive my friends.”

“Revive your friends?” the voice asked.

“Yes, the magical artifact that raises the dead?” I prompted.

“Ah, that…” the voice paused.

“Please tell me it exists,” I said with bated breath.

“It exists,” the voice replied, after what felt like a moment of hesitation. “And, since you miraculously killed the giant, I’ll make it easier for you.”

“Cool, hand it over.” I could almost sense the eagerness of my fallen comrades—all ready to return to the living. Yet, I had an inkling there was more.

“No can do,” the voice said. “The artifact is inside the Brobdingnagian’s heart.”

“So, I…”

“You’ll have to dig it out.”

“Great.” What was a little extra blood? At the very least, it wasn’t the end of our adventure… yet.

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This story was inspired by the original composition, Cyber Wanderer by Christoforos Koutsodimos.

Music Meets Story © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Monster [12 Genre Months]

Living is a gift—a chance to experience the fullness of emotions and the excitement of life’s many adventures. Yet, to some of us, existing is a curse. And if we had a choice, we would never have been born. For why would we, when our first glimpse of life is that of a monster.

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. But fret not, my dear Adam, you will grow to accept this change. Yes, it is indeed shocking at first,” he said. “But soon, it will be as if it was meant to be.”

No, it was never meant to be. He would often try to lift my spirits, cajoling me to embrace life and defend the soul within this body. But no, he could never understand—his mind was clouded by his own delusions, for this monster often thought himself a god. So how could he truly perceive mortality?

“No, Adam, you are not alone. Even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation, why would you ever be alone?” he asked. “I am here for you, Adam, always. I will be your father and your companion. And I shall never leave you, Adam, never.”

If only he heard me—listened to my bleeding heart—he would know that loneliness was what I longed for. There was a peace that rested in my chest in his absence. Oh, how I often wished for him to never return. Without him breathing down my back, forcing my hand to become what I refused to be, I could actually find a nugget of joy in this life. Alas, he only sought to be with me… as all monsters do.

“Nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose. Let me help you find your purpose, Adam. You will find much happiness and meaning in life when you do,” he stated. “How about we visit the library tomorrow? Or, if you like, we can find you a suitable teacher—one who knows how to practice discretion, of course. We shall do that, Adam, yes, we shall.”

Did I have a choice? Should I ever refuse to do as he asked of me, he would extend a look of disdain—not that I cared for his approval, but each moment I disappointed him, I only sparked his desire to fix me. Hence, I always conceded. But perhaps, if I broke his heart countless times, he would soon put me in my grave—ah, the only gift that I would cherish… for eternity.

“The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. It is all right, my dear Adam. You are allowed to feel as you should, and you are most certainly meant to make mistakes. After all, feelings and mistakes are part of human nature. So you mustn’t shun them.”

What did he know about human nature? And how naïve of him to think that every mistake was an accident. I knew what I was doing—there was no accident. The mistake was failing at what I had set out to do. Yet, he often looked beyond my intention. Perhaps, he was afraid—afraid to accept that I am not who he wants me to be.

“We are fashioned creatures, but half made up. Thus, I am just like you, Adam. Do you think of me as a stranger—that I do not understand your plight? I do, Adam. I understand you. If only you would let me in, I can show you how much I am just like you.”

He was not like me, nor did he understand my plight. How could a monster ever comprehend my reality? If only I could flee from his unrelenting grasps. If only I was bold enough to venture beyond his prison. If only… he would offer me a choice. Alas, that is not what monsters do. I would forever be cursed to live with a creator, who wouldn’t even dare to look in the mirror. For if he saw his reflection, there would be no brilliant Victor Frankenstein. No, he would see a beast greedy with pride and mad for knowledge beyond his own mind—the real fallen angel who should have left creation to God.

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12 Genre Months © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)

 

A Thousand Lives [Music Meets Story]

If I could live a thousand lives, what would I see?

I would see ember evening skies of suffocating smog, dusty with the ashes of a war-torn city. The sunset in the horizon now shrouded by devastation, absent of the welcoming starry night that once filled the world with awe. For reality was a macabre series of hopelessness… of which, I could only pray, would never be the future of those to come.

If I could live a thousand lives, what would I see?

I would see a multitude of broken souls, whose eyes dimmed with life as their will to live wavered. I would question if what I saw were true, for how could there be such disparate worlds, coexisting in such a time—of both carefree innocence and breathless fear, where fate had predetermined whether one lives or dies. Unsettling it was, for such a conflicting habitat to own this reality, with no saving grace—no reason nor choice. But perhaps, the future was different.

If I could live a thousand lives, what would I see?

I would see a rising courage for a new world. From endless defeat to a cry of victory—a movement to live, with flags waving high in the fight for freedom. Righteous anger filled the disposition of many in their quest to own the choices they were gifted. Oh, how the world has changed—suddenly, destiny belonged to those who owned it. Suddenly, to be human was to defend one’s rights. Was this the future?

If I could live a thousand lives, what would I see?

I would witness what seemed impossible eons ago—a coming together of all and sundry. What one would deem an unlikely marriage, in a time of great segregation, became a normality. Diverging paths with little commonality had united for the greater good. From a thousand lives, the passage of space and time had proven my faith in humanity was not in vain. There was… indeed… a different world beyond the now.

If I could live a thousand lives, what would I see?

I would see lifetimes of turmoil, pain, and despair. Yet, in the midst of it all, I would see hope, change, and the true meaning of life. For a thousand lives on a single planet paints a story from a palette of a million hues, not of mere black and white as many souls often choose. And should any being grasp the nature of living, as I have from an ethereal plane, they would know… a thousand lives is never worth more than one.

Still, the question remains—if I could live a single life, would I glimpse the same?

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This story was inspired by the original composition, Wish You Were Here by Ülvi Zeynalov.

Music Meets Story © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Twenty-Twenty [12 Genre Months]

March 18, 2020

It’s a typical Wednesday—bumper to bumper traffic on the Federal Highway since 8 a.m. The midweek blues has officially set it, and I can’t wait for the weekend. How boring can today be, am I right? There is, however, an interesting topic for discussion—my colleagues and I have been talking about a virus. Its rapid spread in the past few months has made it a global affair. It’s literally #trending. Oddly enough, no one seems to care. I guess… we’ll get over it soon.

March 20, 2020

One more long day before the weekend! And guess what? We’re having a farewell party for Siva tomorrow. It’s his last month with us before he leaves the country for his new job in Germany. Since he told us he resigned, we’ve been trying to speak German with him. I’ve gotta say, he’s pretty good. Granted, he took classes. Meanwhile, I’m here trying to learn Korean from k-dramas.

March 21, 2020

Evelyn just called. She said she isn’t feeling very well, and might even call in sick next week. Evelyn rarely falls sick. I mean, she’s the healthiest one of our lot. The girl hits the gym like… everyday? Well, I guess there’ll be more food for me later. Though, I don’t really feel all that great either. But… I can’t just bail too, right? We’ve been planning this farewell for a while now. So… I’ll just go. After all, I already bought a new dress for tonight—when else can I wear it?

March 23, 2020

Yup, Evelyn called in sick. She must be feeling horrible—she barely replies to my messages. Poor girl. She isn’t even sure if she has the flu or some other virus. Hopefully, with enough rest, she’ll get back to the office soon. We’re in a very busy season, and one man down affects us all. Now if only… I could call in sick, too.

March 25, 2020

Unbelievable. Three more people called in sick today. I can’t possibly be covering for everyone. This is insane! I already have this impossible client on my hand, and now I have to take on their clients, too? Also, why do people think it’s okay to call in sick over a little cold? Just pop a freaking Panadol. Don’t have Panadol? The office has some! Just get your butt to work!

March 27, 2020

Just got a message from our office WhatsApp group—Evelyn is in the hospital. A few of us want to visit her this weekend. We’re thinking of getting a few balloons, just to brighten her mood a little. Though, we don’t know what time we should go. Evelyn still hasn’t been responding to her messages. Honestly, I’m a little worried.

March 28, 2020

I can’t remember the last time I went to a hospital, but are all hospitals this busy? There were so many people, it took us forever just to get Evelyn’s room number. As for Evelyn, she wasn’t conscious when we arrived. Her family was there though, and they said she has the virus. Since we couldn’t talk to Evelyn, and it was awkward conversing with her parents, we left the balloons and called it a day.

March 30, 2020

I had to apply for an emergency leave today—mum wasn’t feeling well. She said something about not being able to breathe. So I had to take her to the hospital. This hospital, too, had a lot of people. For some reason, everyone decided to fall sick at the same time. And it’s a little troubling—I don’t think they have enough staff to handle the crowd. Well, hopefully mum gets better soon.

March 31, 2020

The nurses told me I can’t visit mum anymore. They said it was too dangerous. They wouldn’t explain anything. Heck, they don’t even have the time to entertain any of my questions. So I’m not sure what is going on. It feels like the end of the world… yet everyone is acting like it’s just another regular day. I also heard some people mention the virus. Apparently, it’s still trending. But… no one seems to care? I hope we’ll get over it soon.

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12 Genre Months © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Sword Of Destiny [Music Meets Story]

There it was—the glistening blade of steel that reflected the drifting clouds of the afternoon sky, rivaling the picturesque valley in its perpetual Autumn hue—the Sword of Destiny. Plunged deep into a jagged boulder, it was often mistaken as the legendary Excalibur. For many had come to where it stood, bejeweled in grace and elegance, in hopes of a better future. Alas, this very sword in the stone had a different story—a tale of irony with no promise of magic, wealth, or even a royal crown. And should one succeed at freeing it from its home… therein lies a cruel fate.

Yet, there I was. I had heeded its relentless beck and call. After months of intruding my nights with bizarre dreams and my days with unending questions, I yielded to its desire. But more than submission to the unknown, I needed to know the truth—who was the girl with the haunting dark eyes and the blazing red hair? Why did she drive a blade into her lover without sparing a single tear? And how was I related to a narrative from a millennial ago?

Destiny.

I heard it again. The disembodied voice that spoke in the stillness—a whisper that only I could hear. It called me toward the sword, pulling me forward with an in-explainable force. And after months of travelling, having dealt with all my qualms, I confidently reached for the weapon. As I wrapped my hand around its embracing grip, a strange warmth filled my chest. What I thought would be an antagonistic creation by design was surprisingly welcoming. It was as if… I had held it before.

Destiny.

I knew what I had to do. Without hesitation, I pulled the sword with all my might. But in the expectation of the blade gliding from the stone, I was left befuddled. The Sword of Destiny remained in place. Didn’t it call for me to set it free? Wasn’t I the chosen one to inherit its strength and power? Confused and stubborn, I attempted once more… and then another, and another, until the sun bade goodnight. Alas, even with both hands and countless bouts of catching my breath, the blade had rooted itself unmovable.

Destiny.

“What destiny?” I exclaimed in exasperation. “Why have you brought me here? What do you want from me?”

“It doesn’t want anything from you,” a voice replied.

Had I not been alone the entire time? I spun around to find a woman in a long, hooded cloak. As the cloudy night shrouded the pale moon, I could barely see the stranger’s face. If only I had the Sword of Destiny in my hand, I wouldn’t have feared for my life—why hadn’t I come prepared?

“Who are you?” I asked, as I took a few steps back.

“The Sword of Destiny is not yours,” she replied, disregarding my seemingly unimportant question. “It never called for you either.”

“What do you mean?” I frowned. “It gave me dreams, and I can hear its voice.”

“You’re not the only one with dreams,” the stranger said. “And what you hear is not its voice… it’s yours.”

I chuckled in disbelief. Who was she to make a fool out of me? I knew what I had dreamt—those recurring dreams that made no sense. I knew what I had heard—the very reason for my quest.

“You want something that isn’t yours,” she added. “But the sword will never come free for you. The sword never comes free for anyone.”

“Then why-”

The stranger took a step forward, revealing half her face in the faint light of the moon. And in that instant, my heart stopped. It was her. She was the girl who betrayed her lover at her father’s orders—the girl who couldn’t shed a tear despite the wretched pain that tore her soul apart.

“The sword cannot change the past,” she said. “The sword cannot change what you did or what you’ll do.”

“I don’t… understand,” I replied.

“Look.” She gestured to the blade, now basking in its own magical glow.

Shifting my gaze from the stranger, I turned to the object of my desire. And in its reflection of the starry sky, I saw myself—the hopeless creature, whose dark eyes remained haunted by the past. Once brave and fearless, as often attributed by my fiery hair, I had become a broken soul. She, or should I say I, was right all along.

“Destiny isn’t set in stone,” I said. “Destiny… is what you will make of it.”

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This story was inspired by the original composition, The Defiant One by Josh Huck.

Music Meets Story © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)