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kanonavi · 11 months

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A Faulty Product, Marked for Disposal

Originally drafted 2/23/2023, Revised 5/5/2023

The first of the stories I wrote for my fiction workshop, which I then revised for the final. I’d still very much call this a draft though, so please bear that in mind lol

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When Rhosyn first saw the boy, she could have sworn she was seeing a ghost out in broad daylight. Porcelain skin and snow white hair were nearly blinding in the sunlight, and the way he stood motionless outside the neighboring bakery made his appearance resemble a trick of the light rather than a living being. That was until Rhosyn tried to step closer, and eyes pale grey like overcast skies whipped towards her. Then in a blink, he had disappeared down an alleyway.

“Ah yes, that wouldn’t be the first time.” The baker says the following day, when Rhosyn delivers her coffee along with a question about the strange figure, “He showed up last week, and I’ve caught him gawking at my window display almost every day since. At this rate, I’m going to call in the guard to get him off my property for good. He’s going to start scaring away my customers.”

Rhosyn offers a smile and a platitude in return, even as the idea of having the village guard called on a child turns her stomach. The town is blessedly small enough that in her few centuries of life, she’s never seen a child made a street urchin like the ones hidden away in the underbelly of the Capital. A few orphans have been made in the aftermath of illness or some other tragedy, but each of them were swiftly taken under the wings of another family and raised as if they were their own.

Elven pride isn’t something that Rhosyn is immune to, nor is the protectiveness one feels for the place in which they were born and raised. Yet, she simply cannot fathom the idea that a child, even one so clearly foreign to their little community, would not be treated with sympathy.

She sees him again the very next day, when she steps outside in the morning to set up the signboard with the day’s specials. The boy is so enraptured with the bakery window that he doesn’t even notice her, and Rhosyn takes the opportunity to study his expression. Even partially obscured by his grown-out bangs, the longing there is so obvious that she feels a pang of sympathy all over again.

“Hey, kid,” She calls over to him, and the boy practically jumps out of his skin. Violet eyes turn towards her, and though she had made no move to step closer, he shuffles a few steps away from her.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop looking,” Before she can say anything else, the boy speaks in a rush, so softly she can barely hear. Rhosyn opens her mouth to object, to tell him that it’s alright, but then he’s gone again before she can get the words out.

Poor thing must have gotten an earful already if he’s acting like this… Frustration boils in her chest as she again thinks of her neighbor treating a person who’s clearly so hungry with such scorn. This cannot stand, not in Rhosyn’s good conscience, so instead of going back into the café, she follows the boy down the alleyway.

As she slips between the buildings, there’s no sign of the boy himself. He must have taken off running as soon as he was out of sight. A person isn’t a stray cat, however. They’re bound to leave behind signs of life one way or another, and Rhosyn finds that very sign right at the edge of the village’s little shopping district.

Right out back of the butcher’s shop, she finds an open and abandoned crate tipped onto its side, with a burlap sack draped over the top as if in an attempt to hide the opening. Inside the crate, more sacks are piled up as if to form a bed. It would be an easy fit for that boy, small as he was, and the rancid smell of discarded meat from the shop is powerful enough to deter most people from poking around back here. That would explain some of the off-color stains on the otherwise white clothes that the boy wore.

Rhosyn decides to retreat from the back alley before the stench of blood and gristle makes her vomit, and right then and there she vows to do whatever she can to get that boy off the streets. That determination follows her throughout the day, as just about every customer that comes in has some sort of comment about the “intense look” in her eyes, and she’s barely able to hide her true anticipation with the awkward laughs and excuses that she gives in reply.

The evening can’t come soon enough, and once her final customers leave, Rhosyn is right on their heels to turn the sign on the door over to ‘CLOSED’. Then she gets right to work preparing a small basket with a serving-sized pot of the day’s soup and a sandwich. This kind of delivery isn’t anything new, it’s just the first time she’s made it to an empty crate rather than a home with an appreciative occupant. She can only hope that her guess was correct, and that the boy will find her gift.

What she certainly doesn’t expect is to find the basket at her doorstep the next morning, emptied of its contents and with the cloth that had covered it folded neatly inside. The gratitude in the gesture is so clear that it easily brings a smile to her face. Maybe this mission won’t actually be as difficult as she’d anticipated.

The return of the basket also marks the establishment of a routine, in which Rhosyn makes evening deliveries to the little shelter and finds her basket returned in the morning. A few days later, the baker is thanking the stars over her coffee that the little “rascal” had stopped haunting her establishment, and Rhosyn has to bite back a snide comment about it not being through any effort on her part to improve the situation.

The boy’s absence from the baker’s window does present a bit of a problem, however, since Rhosyn no longer has any idea where to find him. The back alley is always devoid of life whenever she makes her deliveries, so he must have figured out when she comes by in order to avoid her. Several times, she considers making her delivery at an irregular time to see if she could catch him, but each time she decides that doing so would be more likely to scare him away then actually bring about any progress.

It’s an issue that Rhosyn continues to puzzle over for the next few days, until one morning it suddenly solves itself when she opens her front door and is greeted with a yelp of shock.

“I’m sorry!” The boy flinches back apologizes before she’s even said anything, hands held up defensively in front of his face as if his mere presence is enough to make her lash out.

“Why are you apologizing, kid? You’re the one doing me a favor here.” Rhosyn says, as she notices her basket clutched tightly in one of the boy’s hands. Burnt orange eyes blink open and the boy looks up at her in confusion as she gently pulls the basket out of his hold, “Thank you, by the way, for returning this.”

“I just didn’t want to get caught.” He replies, arms wrapping tight around himself as he lowers his gaze, “I understand that I’m an eyesore, and I’ve already troubled you enough.”

All over again, Rhosyn feels a flash of anger that almost makes her nauseous as she realizes just how much of an impact the scorn of her neighbors has had on this boy. There’s simply no excuse for it. “You haven’t troubled anyone.” She tells him, completely no-nonsense, “Now, would you like to come in for some breakfast?”

“I couldn’t possibly… I don’t even really need to eat that much, you don’t need to worry yourself over me…” The boy stammers, but his momentum peters out at the sound of Rhosyn’s sigh as she steps aside and motions for him to step into the café.

“Don’t lie to me, kid. I understand what hunger looks like.” She says, and apparently her tired expression alone is enough to cow the boy into accepting her invitation, as he lowers his eyes to the ground and slips past her through the open door.

Rhosyn directs the boy to sit at the counter while she goes into the kitchen to prepare his food. A few slices of fresh bread go onto a plate with a small bowl of whipped butter, and a larger bowl is filled with the day’s soup that she’d finished only half an hour ago. It’s hardly more glamorous than what she usually offers, but the fact that it’s not simply leftovers makes her feel quite a bit better about it.

The feeling compounds when she sets the food down in front of the boy and watches his face light up in delight. So brightly in fact, that Rhosyn catches the color of his eyes changing right before her, from a soft lavender to a dandelion yellow.

“They really do change color…” She muses aloud, which causes the boy’s head to jerk up from where he’d been focused on spreading butter onto a slice of bread. Now that she’s looking for it, she can see new colors swirling within the yellow of his irises, especially with the way his eyes have widened, “Your eyes, I mean. I thought I was just seeing things before, what’s the deal with that?”

“Oh, that…” Distantly, he lifts a hand to touch his cheek, just below his eye, “It’s just the way that I was made, that’s all. Supposedly the color of my eyes reflects my emotional state, it’s the same for all the others. Call it a gimmick, if you will.”

Made? The others? A gimmick? Suddenly, Rhosyn is struck with the feeling that she’s stumbled into something out of her depth, but she has to persist. It’s all for the sake of good will, “I’m not sure I really get any of that, I’m going to be honest.” She admits with a short chuckle, “But tell me kid, what’s your name, where are you from? Not from anywhere around here, I’m guessing.”

The question seems to catch the boy off guard, as he fully freezes with his buttered bread lifted halfway to his mouth. Then the situation gets even stranger when he gets up from his seat altogether and offers her some kind of salute, as if he’s a tiny soldier.

“Color Guard Unit 500, servant to none. Name: None.” He says, in complete monotone, like that string of words had been branded so deeply into his mind that he could say them automatically. Rhosyn’s shock must have shown on her face, since once his greeting is done the boy sheepishly adds, “That is who I am.”

“Oookay…” As the child climbs back onto his stool and properly digs into his meal, Rhosyn tries her best to process what she’d just heard. Most of it was complete nonsense, as she’s never heard of anything like a “Color Guard”, even in the Capital, so she ultimately decides to disregard that part entirely.

What’s more comprehensible, but also more worrying, is the talk of servants. The use of child servants is one of the worst-kept secrets of the Capital’s ruling class, and it would certainly explain this boy’s well-spoken and polite manner. “Kid, just give it to me straight, none of that weird introduction business.” She eventually says, “Did you escape from the Capital?”

“The Capital?” He responds, tilting his head inquisitively, “No, I didn’t come from there. I’m from another world, and was discarded here. When I picked a direction and started walking, this was the first sign of civilization that I found.”

“Right…” By now Rhosyn can feel a headache coming on, so she starts preparing herself a cup of coffee in the feeble hope that being more awake will somehow help her understand any of this better, “So you were “made” in another world, and then “discarded” here. Are those your words, or your parents’ words?”

“I have no parents.” The boy replies easily, “The technicians and instructors made it quite clear that we were never to view them that way. Though they’re the ones who said in no uncertain terms that I was to be discarded. I am a faulty product, unfit to be sold.”

“How can you stand being aware of that? Does it not tear you up inside??” Although this child is clearly not the human that Rhosyn once assumed he was, to hear any person speak of themself in such a dehumanizing way is still unbelievable to hear. Still, the boy is unfazed.

“It is simply the reality of things. My apologies, but I cannot say I understand what warrants getting this upset.” Whoever those technician people were had clearly gotten deep into this boy’s head, if his nonchalance about this entire subject says anything at all.

There’s still so much that Rhosyn simply doesn’t understand, especially the concern of what this boy even is, but in the here and now she feels like it doesn’t really matter. He’d won her sympathy weeks ago, when she first saw the scorn that he was being treated with by her neighbors, but now she knows that the scorn he’s faced runs far deeper than that ever could. It’s a wrong that she is going to right, no matter what.

“Here kid, I’ll tell you what. Let’s start over.” She reaches her hand across the counter, offering it to the boy, “My name is Rhosyn Reese. It’s nice to meet you.”

Eyes now tinged with lavender once again, the boy looks between her hand and face a couple of times before reaching out to take it, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reese. I’m sorry that I don’t have a name to give you in return.”

“Just call me Rhosyn. We don’t do formality here.” She tells him, “Now, would you like a name? It would be nicer than me having to keep calling you “kid” all the time.”

“Would I like a name?” He echoes, “I suppose a name would be nice… but I can’t choose a name for myself.”

Rhosyn suspects that it has to do with the whole servant thing that this boy was set up for, and though she’s tempted to ask about it she’d rather not get lost in the weeds again. “Alright, I’ll try to think of some. But if you don’t actually like it, you need to tell me. Got it?”

Although he still looks doubtful, the boy nods, and Rhosyn starts picking her brain for names. None of the common ones that come to mind just don’t seem to fit, and many of them already belong to people that she knows. Choosing names might not be her forte, she realizes belatedly, but then out of the depths of her mind comes a name from a little bit closer to home that might just be perfect.

“How about Carwyn?” She asks. The boy tilts his head again as he thinks it over, and Rhosyn closely watches for any sign of dissatisfaction that he might try to hide. But to her delight, she watches as he actually smiles for the first time.

“I think I like that name. Carwyn…” The boy repeats it, and though it sounds a bit different in his foreign accent it makes him smile even wider, “Yes, I love it!”

“I’m glad. That name is actually what my parents would have called me if I were a boy. A bit cheesy, I know, but I’ve always liked it.” Rhosyn admits, “But with that out of the way… Carwyn, would you like to stay here? This village is small, I can’t say we have a lot to offer, but it’s better than wandering the countryside feeling like you’ve been discarded.”

I want to show you that you’re allowed to be a person, rather than a servant or a product, if only you’ll let me.

Carwyn blinks up at her, golden eyes innocent as anything, with an expression so placid that for a moment Rhosyn is scared that he’ll just reject her on principle, as if he was programmed against it. But then that smile of his returns and he nods his head, “Thank you, Rhosyn. I think that I’ll accept your offer.”

A year later, Carwyn is nearly unrecognizable from the boy that Rhosyn had taken in all those months ago. Not because his appearance had changed in any way, “Chances are I’ll look like this forever,” he’d explained to her at one point when she’d asked about his youthful appearance. Rather, in the past year Carwyn’s confidence had blossomed, leaving the nervous, apologetic person that he used to be as a relic of the past.

Once he was pulled off the streets, he’d endeared himself to the rest of the village easily, with his gentle, polite manner. Even the baker who once spoke so harshly of the young man ended up coming around after receiving an apology for the trouble that he’d caused. It was an apology that Rhosyn believed was soundly undeserved, but Carwyn had insisted on offering it as a sign of good faith.

It certainly took time for Carwyn to get used to the idea that people wouldn’t despise him on sight, a preconception that Rhosyn worked very hard to dispel, but she was proud of the fact that he seemed to put just as much effort into trying to grow.

When the first year passed them by, Rhosyn had always known that it would be an excuse for celebration, and it was remarkably easy to convince just about everyone in the village to pack themselves into her little café for the surprise party that she’d planned. Carwyn had been incredibly embarrassed by the whole thing, insisting that it was way too much of a fuss for his sake, but just about every person in the room had brushed his words off as nonsense.

After that, he’d been swept away by the crowd, everyone wanting their turn to wish him well or pass him gifts that they’d prepared. Rhosyn had left him to the whims of their friends and neighbors, she could offer up her own gift later on, but after some time preparing drinks for anyone who wanders over to the counter, she notices someone standing off to the side on their own.

The man was a childhood friend of hers, who had been studying in the Capital until just a few weeks ago. He was always the reclusive sort, and Rhosyn had invited him not only as a means for him to get to know Carwyn, but as a way to get him to be social at all. But the plan seems to be backfiring, based on the way he’s lingering on the party’s fringes and warily eyeing the crowd.

“Is the ruckus too much for your fragile constitution, or what?” Rhosyn teases as she sidles up to her friend, but the man only gives her a dry look before his gaze turns back to the crowd, still bunched around Carwyn in the café’s center.

“You know how I feel about large gatherings, Rhos.” He replies, his brows furrowing the longer he watches the group, “But it’s not really that… I’m curious, if it’s not rude of me to ask, do you really know what your new friend actually is?”

“Do I know what he is?” Rhosyn echoes, one of her brows rising in confusion, “That’s kind of a weird question, but if you’re asking if he’s human, he’s definitely not.”

“That much is rather obvious, based on his eyes.” Her friend says, before shaking his head, “Maybe I’m just overthinking this, but there were some rumors circulating in the Capital a while ago. I’d forgotten about them, but seeing Carwyn brought them to mind.”

“What were the rumors?” Rhosyn asks. Any mention of the Capital is enough to put anyone on edge, with the near-tyrannical direction that their world’s Head God had taken in the past century or so. Rumors are simply rumors, and her friend has surely never been close enough to the top to hear anything of substance, but the curiosity is already eating away at her.

“Apparently the Knights were ordered to search for some kind of “False God” that had appeared in this world.” Of all things that her friend could have said, Rhosyn definitely wasn’t expecting that, “I’m not saying that it could be him, but… he definitely doesn’t seem like someone from this world to me. I know that the Capital hardly seems to remember our little hamlet even exists, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried for you, Rhos.”

Naturally, all Rhosyn could think back to in that moment were the various scraps of information Carwyn had offered her over the past year, particularly the bit about being sent here from another world. The word “God” had never left his lips, but if the Capital was truly looking for interlopers… they’ve never been known for being very discriminant in their searches.

“I can’t just abandon him.” Despite the very real fear that had burrowed its way into her heart, Rhosyn doesn’t hesitate with her response, “He’s like a brother to me now, I’m not about to turn him away to save my own skin. If the Capital wants to come for him, let them come.”

“Why did I know you would say something foolish like that?” Shaking his head, her friend heaves a sigh, “I’m not here to tell you what to do, I just thought I’d let you know.”

They let the subject drop after that, and after a while Rhosyn manages to get her friend to join the party, letting her take her place back at the bar. Everything seems to go smoothly, as she later spots him chatting amicably with Carwyn. Perhaps everything would be fine. She certainly wanted to hope that they would be.

It’s only once the partygoers have all filtered out that Carwyn finally makes his way back over to her, where he slumps onto one of the barstools with what might be the heaviest sigh Rhosyn has ever heard from him.

“It’s tough being so popular, huh?” She asks, her lips quirked up into a teasing smirk, and she has to stop herself from laughing at the dead-tired look that Carwyn gives her.

“It’s not that, truly. People are so kind, it’s just so much to handle…” He explains, clearly disgruntled by her attempt to tease, “I’ve never had so many people all trying to talk to me at once before.”

“I get it, I really do.” Rhosyn replies, allowing herself a short laugh at his expense, “But do you think you have the energy for one more? It’s not much, but I’ve prepared a little gift of my own for you.”

“I think we both know that you’re different, Rhosyn.” Carwyn says with a warm smile, sitting up a little straighter as if he somehow needs to look more proper in order to receive her gift, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t think it’s that much, the fact that anyone has done anything for me at all today is far more than enough.”

“Alright then, I’m not expecting any kind of disappointment.” Rhosyn jokes. But instead of pulling out any kinds of packages from her person, she simply leans forward and rests her elbows on the countertop, “So you’ve been here for a year now, Carwyn, and I’m being honest when I say that I can hardly imagine life without you anymore. I’ve been alive for a while now, so that’s nothing to sneeze at. But to cut to the chase here, I’ve considered you my family for a while now, so I wanted to offer you my family name. To make all those jokes people make about you being my little brother official.”

For several moments, Carwyn just stares at her with his mouth hanging slack in shock, and then in a matter of seconds his hands have flown up to cover his mouth as tears gather in his eyes. Even without the color of his eyes (a gold so brilliant that it nearly glows) giving him away, Rhosyn couldn’t have mistaken the joy on his face for anything else. It’s in seeing that expression that she knows she’s made the right choice.

“Rhosyn, I… It would be an honor! I’m sorry for crying, I just… I never thought that anyone would ever actually consider me to be their family.” Carwyn stammers out, and Rhosyn nearly rolls her eyes as he starts apologizing to her, of all things.

“Don’t apologize, you sap. Here, hold on.” Looping around to the other side of the counter, Rhosyn wipes away Carwyn’s tears before pulling him into a hug, “I don’t know how much of an “honor” this really is, but I’m glad you’re happy. Plus, Carwyn Reese has a nice ring to it too, don’t you think?”

From the way that he started to cry even harder in her arms, Rhosyn liked to think that he agreed with her.

If only times could have stayed as good as that forever.

The morning that turned Rhosyn’s life upside down was like any other, getting cleaned and dressed while Carwyn slept in in the opposite bedroom. The shutters of the café were raised, and she stepped outside with the signboard, only for her peaceful routine to be shattered by a commotion from up the street.

Curiosity coaxes her to follow the noise to its source, only to find a group of her friends and neighbors gathered around a small group of soldiers. Each one is clad head to foot in white and gold, the colors of their God. Knights from the Capital, there’s no mistaking them.

“Our Lord’s patience runs thin!” One of the men, the one with the longest plume extending from the top of his helmet announces as Rhosyn joins the very back of the crowd, “Reveal the False God harbored within this township, or we will exercise our right to search private property in order to unearth it!”

In front of her, several of the elves look at each other in confusion. There’s no God being harbored within their village. At least, in their minds. Meanwhile, Rhosyn’s eyes widen when she hears those words. The conversation with her scholar friend from two years ago floats back to her mind, of the Capital’s search for a False God and his suspicions towards her younger brother, which had later been confirmed by the young man himself.

“I’ve begun to suspect that I was abandoned here so that I would be killed.” Carwyn had confessed to her one night a little over a year ago while they were preparing the next day’s pastries, as casually as if he was commenting on the weather, “An immortal being with the capacity to be called a God is difficult to create, but even more difficult to kill. They may not have had the means to put me out of their own misery.”

“After all, they never expected anything less than perfection.”

“You, there!” Rhosyn is jerked back to reality by a shout, and her head snaps up to meet the gaze of the long-plumed man, “Do you know something about the False God??”

For a moment, fear pulses through Rhosyn’s chest as the crowd in front of her parts and the knight begins to stride towards her, but then she recalls the way that they’d spoken about Carwyn, about her brother, and that fear coalesces into pure rage.

“There are no False Gods in this village, Sir.” Rhosyn snaps, her voice dripping with venom, “I have no idea where you Capital-types get off thinking that you can show up whenever you please and make these accusations, but I won’t hear of it–!”

“Rhosyn, stop.”

From behind comes a voice, clear and firm, and the crowd turns as one to see Carwyn approaching, violet eyes trained directly on the plumed knight as he announces, “I am the False God that you’re looking for.”

“Carwyn, you can’t do this!” Rhosyn protests, but as Carwyn reaches her side he shakes his head and offers a reassuring smile as if everything is alright. As if she can’t see the fear in his eyes.

“No Rhosyn, I must do this.” He whispers in return, before stepping past her to stand in front of the knight. He’s so painfully small next to the towering man, and Rhosyn thinks it a miracle that he’s able to hold this bold façade as well as he as. Especially when he lifts his arm in that salute that she hasn’t seen in over three years.

“Color Guard Unit 500, servant to none. Name: Carwyn.” In that mechanical drone, Rhosyn hears him discard her family’s name in what could only be an act of protection that nonetheless feels like a dagger being driven into her chest, “As I said, I am the False God that you seek. Do with me what you will, for I lack the power and ability to defend myself.”

“Three years of searching… for this?” The knight’s lips curl into a sneer of disgust as he stares down his nose at the petite God still staring up at him. Rhosyn can’t see the expression on Carwyn’s face, but as the knight roughly grabs his arm and yanks, forcing him to follow, she hears a soft noise of pain. That’s when she truly can’t stand to watch anymore.

“Unhand him, you bastard!” She shrieks, lunging forward and grabbing Carwyn’s other arm and yanking him free from the knight’s hold, pulling him tight against her chest, “How dare you treat him this way? What harm has he brought to anyone in this world??”

“Unhand the False God, foolish woman.” The knight growls as he turns back to fix Rhosyn with that glare that never seems to leave his face, “If you continue resisting, you will be arrested for treason.”

“I don’t give a damn about that! I—” Again, Rhosyn tries to protest, but this time she’s met with a pair of hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her away.

“Please, Rhos. Don’t ruin your life for me.” Carwyn says, his lips curved into a rueful smile, “These past few years that you’ve given me, they’ve been more than I ever could have hoped for. But they’re enough, Rhosyn. You’ve done enough.”

Tears begin to gather in Rhosyn’s eyes as she listens to his words, and they begin to fall as Carwyn leans closer to press his cheek to hers, tender as ever, even when she can see the hues of sorrow swirling in his eyes.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Those are the last words that Carwyn speaks to her before he pulls away completely and returns to the waiting knight, who had watched their exchange with his usual disgust. “She’s lucky that you’re wise enough to know your place.” He says, again seizing the small God’s arm, “If you keep that up, maybe she won’t suffer the consequences for harboring a False God for three years.”

With that emphasis, the plumed knight looks over his shoulder one last time, but Rhosyn doesn’t even notice the glance. She can’t bear to watch her family be taken away while the words “you’ve done enough” are still ringing in her ears.

It’s nowhere near enough.

Three years means nothing to a century of isolation and neglect.

Three centuries could pass and she would still be kept up at night wondering if she had done enough for him.

But that time is a luxury that Rhosyn would not be allowed, for the realm of the gods was never hers to touch.

~~~

If you’ve actually read this far, I can’t thank you enough! I just thought it would be neat to share what I’ve been spending my creative braincells on over the course of the semester, when I was simply too dead to write any fic lol

Since this is a revision, I’d like to take note of what I actually changed based on the feedback that I received. The scene around the middle, the celebration of Carwyn’s first year in the village was added whole-cloth in the second draft and meant to hit several birds with one stone. The main critiques I received for this piece were that there wasn’t enough time spent with Carwyn and Rhosyn to make their separation hit the right emotional mark, and that I should expand more on this world that I had constructed. That new scene basically sought to restore some of the context I had to trim to fit within the original 15-page limit.

The deadline under which I had to write this is what I think led to most of its issues, as this is quite literally the skeleton of an idea that I dug out of my brain chest from when I was in high school and dressed it up in a sunglasses and a feather boa before presenting it at workshop. I’m hoping that I can work with this world more in the fall and continue building on these ideas, because I unfortunately think more of the holes will show in the other story that I wrote. I simply haven’t been able to give names and faces to people who may or may not be important characters, since I simply don’t know who most of the important characters will be aside from these two and perhaps a couple more. But I’m excited to continue working in that direction, and for what this is, which is a start, I’m pretty happy with how far I’ve come as a writer since I came up with these characters and ideas in like, my freshman year of high school.

I’ll try to post the other story soon!

#navi writes originals #my ocs #carwyn reese #rhosyn reese #original fiction #everyone look at blorbo from my brain he's a real boy now!

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