NaNoWriMo is rapidly drawing to a close (cue terrified screaming) and I am barely, desperately clinging to a viable pace. If I can shake off the relatives for just a few hours during the four-day Thanksgiving extravaganza, I think I can pull this off. But the rarity of writing time does make for a pathetic lack of blog writing time. So, rather than make up something stupid right now, I present to you something stupid I made up a while ago! You’re welcome!
This is my favorite scene that I’ve written so far in this year’s NaNo novel, Blood and Ebony. It’s also super unedited and probably really weird, but I like it nonetheless. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
One week. Aralee had been longer a widow than she had been a wife.
The chapel’s yellow drapes had been replaced with gray, their somber windows weeping. Aralee stood at the head of the chapel with the priest, staring out into the gathering throng with dry eyes and a bleak heart. Most of these people had known Aerold for as long as Aralee had been alive, some longer. What right did she have to lead their mourning, she who had hardly known the man?
The funeral began, Aerold’s spiced ashes brought in by those last few who could claim any blood relation to the king, however distant it was.
Aralee had never been to a funeral before. She’d never tasted the ash of mourning. Her stomach turned as the priest started the fire.