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Crissy Moss
Good things come to those who wait... but I'm not going to just wait
Good things come to those who wait... but I'm not going to just wait

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Bjorn and his helmet.
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Just a quick update.
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I put my short story collection, Dark Angels, up for free this weekend. It's about fallen angels.
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Another snipet from "Dragon's Flame", the first book in my new "Half-Blood Sorceress" series. Happy #saterdayscenes


The wailing began as I sat there beside Gracy, breathing in her scent of meadow, hay, and the lingering smell of sweat. But the comfort was over. I had to face reality, and reality was heading my direction at that very moment.

I gave Gracy a few last strokes, untangling the mess I’d made of her mane, then put the brush back on the shelf. Stepping outside the small coral, Gracy put her head over the fence, snuffling at my hair again.

“It’s okay, Gracy. Everything will be okay,” I said, wiping away the tears. I hadn’t even realized they were there before that moment.

I gave her one final scratch before turning back to the house. I promised mother I’d be there for my dad. But who would be there for me? It didn’t matter.

The slow trek across the yard was punctuated by my father's cries. The closer I got to the house the quieter they became, until I stood before the door. His cries had become sobs. I slowly pushed open the door, the hinges letting out a faint squeak.

“Daddy?” I whispered.

“She’s gone,” I heard him whisper.

I stepped in, leaving the door open to let in a small pool of light. Father knelt at my mother's bedside, clasping her hand, tears running down into his dark beard.

“How could you leave me,” he said, kissing her hand. “I still need you.”

I came to stand beside him, quietly waiting for him to notice me. When he did it wasn’t with the fatherly love I had hoped to see. Instead he looked up at me with anger slowly spreading across his face. I didn’t know why, and the confusion on my tear stained face must have pushed him over the edge because he got up from the floor, towering over me, and began to yell.

“Where were you?” he shouted. “You should have been with her. You could have called me. Saved her. Done something!”

“I…I…” The words were trapped in my throat, my mind blank. What could I say that would ease his pain? What could be said that would ease my own pain?

I wiped a hand across my cheek, waiting. It felt like I was always waiting for my father to decide what to do with me. Yell, curse, scream, blame? None of it seemed to matter then. He could have heaped every insult on me possible and I don’t think I could have cared. My mother was dead. The soul light in my life had been snuffed out. What more could he do to me?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You dare stare at me with those eyes! They were her eyes. I’ll kill you!”

I dodged his blow. I had lots of practice over the years, and he was drunker than usual.

“She was my mother. I miss her, too. Can’t you just remember I’m your daughter for a little while.”

“You’re not my daughter!” he screamed. “You were never mine, I just suffered your presence because I loved her. And now she’s gone and you are nothing but a weight around my neck, and a memory of her. Get out!”

“That— That can’t be true.”

“It is. Whatever bastard made you he also gave her that wasting disease because she’s been dying since you were born. Slowly slipping away from us. She gave you her life. If it weren’t for you she’d still be alive!”

My world shattered in that instant. For all my brave thoughts about standing up to him, and not letting his anger get to me, I was wrong. This man that had raised me, fed me, taught me to care for horses, how to ride, and how to tie a knot- not my father?

“You- you’re lying,” I stammered. “You’re just saying that to hurt me because you’re upset about mother.”

“Lying,” he said, and for a brief moment I saw the stark reality in his eyes. He was sober, and sane, and he was speaking the utmost truth. “You were never my daughter. I couldn’t get your ma pregnant, never could. I don’t know who sired you, girl, but it sure as hell's wasn’t me.”

I ran.

I don’t know where I thought I was going, or what I was thinking. I don’t think I was thinking at all. I ran from the farmhouse that had been my home for eighteen years. I ran from the mother who lay dead in her bed. I ran from the man who, in one swift blow, had upturned my entire life and turned it on its axis.

The running felt good, burning through my muscles as I tore through the woods. Twigs and branches caught at my skirts and my hair, ripping them to tatters. And still I ran. Deeper into the woods, into a part of the forest I’d never been, until my breath gave out and I could barely move one foot in front of another.

I came to rest at the edge of a small stream winding its way beneath the evergreens. Smooth stones blocked up a shimmering pool of water. I sat down to watch fish lazily swim through the waters.

I lay on the bank on a patch of thick moss, and cried. I’d lost more than my mother that day. I lost an entire lifetime. All of the memories I’d held dear were now tinted with the specter of a lie hanging over my mother’s bed. A lie that I had been the result of, and more lies told to keep the appearance of normalcy.

Did my father hate my mother? Or just me?

#amwriting #fantasy #amwritingfantasy #bookcover #newseries #saturdayscenes
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A new cover, and a new blurb.

#cover #amwriting #amwritingfantasy
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A working cover. I think I still need to adjust the text, but definitely a good start.
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I'm getting close to finishing the first book in my new series... Here's a little snippet from it. A new #SaturdayScenes for you.


The building Ayrula sent me to was unremarkable in every way except for the mage's mark on the front door. But the mark, in itself, was enough. The swirls and lines of the mark glowed with a blue fire that did not burn the door. I reached out to touch the flames but I couldn’t feel them, either as a heat burning my finger tips or a flame answering the fires inside me. Illusion? I had no way of knowing, at least not yet.

As I watched the flames shifted into letters showing “open” before shifting back to the mage's mark. A welcome sign of sorts.

Hesitantly I put my hand on the door, expecting the flames to react at any moment. They only ignored me, shifting from mage mark to open, and back again in a lazy haze.

I pushed open the door, finding myself in a warm room with a roaring fire to one side, and a large wood desk at the other end. A man in a blue suit, with a long white mustache and bald head looked up from a book and frowned at me.

“Can I help you, young girl?”

“I was told I would find Master Tanolis here,” I said, closing the door behind me.

He pushed the thick tomb forward, the leather scraping against the desk, and leaned back in his chair.

“And what business do you have with Master Tanolis?”

“I was told he could help me get to Kemoor Island. I want to train as a mage.”

“There are many young men and women who come here seeking entry to Kemoor, girl. Not all of them are invited there. What makes you think you’d be allowed to go?”

That gave me pause. In all the travels across the plains I hadn’t questioned whether or not I’d be allowed to go across the sea to Kemoor. I had magic, or rather fire, inside of me and I needed to go there, to learn to control it. Wasn’t that enough reason to send me to Kemoor? But no one told me what Master Tanolis would need in order to take me.

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t know if they’ll take me, but I have to try. I have no where else to go.”

He leaned forward, stroking his mustache and studying me for a moment.
“What’s your name, girl?”

“Sybel, sir.”

“And, Sybel, why do you want to be a mage?”

“I don’t know that I do,” I said, being honest. Even if it meant not reaching my destination, there was no point in lying. “I don’t know anything about mages, or magic. I don’t know what would make a good mage, I just know that I need answers, and the only place that I might be able to find them is on Kemoor Island, among the mages.”

“Mages aren’t all knowing, Sybel,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “We study the arts, see how the world fits together, and how the magic flows through the ether, but we have not been alive to see all that is, or will be.”

“I know, but mages have been collecting information for generations, and my questions are about magic, so it is likely I will find at least some answers there. Please,” I said, my shoulders slumping. "Are you Master Tanolis?”

He stood, his lengthy body unfolding in front of me. He was only a head taller than I, but his shoulders were wide, and his long arms gave him a reach I wasn’t use to. Mykul would have suggested keeping my distance, using my speed against his reach in battle. But this wasn’t a battle of arms, it was a battle of wits. I was less sure on my feet for that. How could I be anything but unsure? He had years of training and decades of knowledge that I didn’t. For all my travel, I was still a farm girl.

“I am Master Tanolis,” he admitted, “one of the gatekeepers of Kemoor. Potential students must go through me before they are allowed onto the island. Not to keep you out, girl, but to keep you safe. There are dangerous men and women on the island, and the wizards are only some of them. If you can’t handle yourself among them then you might not make it out alive.”

“I’ve spent the last two months traveling with two servitors, one of which was a spoiled brat that tried to kill me several times, and a muscle bound bag of meat that got it into his head to teach me sword skills,” I said, my hand on the pommel of the short blade at my side. “I think I at least have a fighting chance.”

His smile widened. “You seem to have the ego at least.

#amwriting #amwritingfantasy #magic #wizards
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New books, new bed, and THE SUN! Someone save me!
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