Snippet #4

Yohan's musical talent was undeniable; a cello prodigy and his ability to write songs on the fly was nothing to sneeze at either, but it was his singing voice--only a few people knew he could actually sing--that drew her to him. A richly layered tenor, his voice conveyed emotion like no singer she had ever known. From the golden gleam of joy, to the deadly sting of heartache, to simmering bitterness, the explosion of rage, and the ecstasy of grief.

Medea settled down on her usual cushion, closed her eyes and listened as he played and sang his newest song.  Listening to his voice, one would be reminded that music was, and still is, an act of worship. That from ancient times to the present, people raise their voices to the heavens in prayer, in hope and in love. 

Yes, he was that good.

She often wondered why he had never accepted any offer for a singing album, he seemed satisfied with making music with his cello, playing at intimate yet high-end venues (and making obscene amounts of money as he does) and simply puttering around in his small makeshift studio by himself. In the dark. Like always.

She could tell that he loved singing, it was obvious from the way his voice blended into the air, how his face shifted into an expression of delight that she would never understand, from the way his mouth formed the words; as if words and melody existed only for him to mold and wield and shape to his will. 

Maybe that was why, she thought. He loved singing so much that he didn't want to share it with the rest of the world. That he wanted this one love for himself.

And for her, of course. 

It was selfish of her but she couldn't deny that she was pleased with how he kept his ability to sing to himself, limiting the knowledge to her and a few other people. She cherished moments like this, where she could sit with him in the dark and just listen. To let the images inside her head, images that blossomed inside her mind because of his music, and be quiet, be still. At peace.

Sometimes, in her darker days, she thought that it was the only thing that kept her sane.

Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules

Snippet #3

Medea didn't know why she was staring at him, there was absolutely nothing special about him. Perhaps that was why she was so interested in...she didn't know his name. She figured that wasn't so weird, she bet she didn't know most of the kids in her class considering she's anti-social that way, but there was something about the boy--

He sat back and rolled his shoulders, his fingers took a pen from his table and whirled it between his fingers in a gesture that was famili--Medea gasped, flashes of images flitted through her brain and jolted her from her seat. She knocked over the stack of books she had on her table and they hit the floor with a loud thump. Voices quieted down and every head turned to look at her. Usually this would disturb her but her eyes were focused on his hunched broad shoulders, as if he knew she was looking at him, as if he was expecting her to recognize him. 

After a beat, he turned and Medea met his eyes--the color of lush green hills in sunlight--and a face that angels would weep over. He stared back at her and then flicked his eyes to the rest of the class. She blinked and just realized the attention she was getting. 

"Is there a problem, Miss Mimpi?"

Medea tore her eyes away from the boy--the boy in her dream--and shook her head. "Nothing ma'am. I thought...I saw a roach." 

The boy lifted and eyebrow, one corner of his lips tilting up as the rest of the class exploded with disgust. 

Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules

Snippet #2

Medea turned and stared at Elena. "What do you mean?"

Elena flicked her heavy braid over her shoulder. "We used to be magic users, then we became warriors. Now, now we're bureaucrats and politicians."

"That bad?"

Elena grinned. "Well, not so much for us, we have Firdaus."

Medea blinked and slid a look at Firdaus who seemed to be in a conversation with something that she couldn't see. Like, literally, couldn't see. She glanced back at Elena with a disbelieving look. She took one look at the expression on her face and laughed. 

"No, really." Elena assured her. "The Senate try to maneuver, or manipulate or try to trap us into--" She shrugged. "But Firdaus grew up in the Sidhe court and compared to the Fae, those old, fat, scheming geezers are harmless. Firdaus can and have run circles around them, nobody beats the Fae in manipulation and cunning. He wraps them around his fingers and play them like puppets."

Medea didn't look back at Firdaus although she could feel him looking at them; she could feel his stare at the back of her head and it raised the soft hairs on the nape of her neck. She didn't comment either but tucked away that little tidbit into a pocket inside her mind. 

Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules

Snippet #1

Her head was killing her. And her butt was wet.

Surely, a dream shouldn't hurt this bad?

Medea opened her eyes and for a second she couldn't see a thing. Then a spark flitted from her left before hovering on her right. It was a tiny figure with wings fluttering behind its body. "That's gonna leave a mark."

Another face popped out at her left. Medea tried to focus her eyes on the person, from the blurry shape of him, it was a guy. A strangely familiar guy. "Great," she slurred, "I'm saved by Peter Pan and Tinkerbell."

Copyright © 2013 by D.F. Jules