#how could you
Rest easy Love
It was tomorrow when she stood at the edge of camp, staring into the wood. The moon was creeping into its highest position but she knew she would not be going to the cabin. She was waiting. Waiting for -
“Vada?” Eiselda came up behind her, her arms holding her cloak tight around her in the chill of the night. “What is all the secrecy? What can you not tell me at camp?” Vada turned towards her and her eyes darted away, avoid her curious gaze.
“I need you to do me a-a favor, Eiselda,” she said, her voice a struggling whisper. “I can’t- I need- I need you to trust me. Please.” Vada said as she looked back to her. “The Goddess has been testing me and I…I have been failing.”
Eiselda’s head tilted and she stepped closer, drawing Vada into a hug. "It’s okay,“ she hushed, petting her hand down the back of Vada’s head to soothe her. “Whatever it is, tell me, and I will do it.”
Vada shook against her friend, her hand gripping the woman’s cloak tightly. Her eyes shut, blocking back tears that threatened to spill over.
“In the forest… there is a cabin.” she started, though the words fought not to be said. It was a struggle to force them out. “the scouts found it, near the river”
“I know of it,” Eiselda said as she gently pushed Vada’s shoulders back so she could look at her. “What is there?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, but not in suspicion, more in confusion.
Vada’s eyes darted away. “I cannot say. Only that… you will know… What to do when-when you get there.” From between them, Vada drew out her dagger. Her hands shook as she pressed it into her friend’s grip. Eiselda’s own steady ones wrapped around hers, stopping their shaking. She pulled the dagger from Vada’s grip. Her fingers almost didn’t want to release it. As if her own body fought against her scheme.
Eiselda drew herself away, tucking the dagger beneath the cloak and casting a gaze back to the camp for a moment. Her eyes switched to Vada and she nodded solemnly before turning to the forest disappearing into the trees.
I think a surprising amount of writers don’t realize that tragedies are supposed to be cathartic. They’re intended to result in a purging of emotion, a luxurious cry; the sorrow caused by a great tragedy is akin to fear caused by a good horror movie – it’s a “safe” sorrow, one that is actually satisfying to the audience. It can still be beautiful! It’s isn’t supposed to just be salting the earth so nothing can grow.
But that’s how you get grimdark: writers who don’t realize that they’re supposed to be doing something withthe audience instead of tothe audience.
#i once heard a lecture where someone said that the great appeal of tragedy is to see terrible things happen to people you’re supposed to#empathize with and see yourself in#and that the catharsis comes from seeing someone’s life go horribly wrong and still have the author hold your hand and tell you#‘this story mattered. even though it had a sad ending it still mattered. even if you don’t succeed your attempts matter’#grimdark tells you that the world sucks and nothing you do matters#well-written tragedy tells you that sometimes the world sucks but everything you do matters so so much#your story is still worth telling even if you never achieve that happy ending#or if you lose it along the way#people have inherent value and their stories deserve to be told no matter if they turn out okay or not#and in a reality that has no concept of ‘fair’ that shit just hits good man!!! feels good!!!!! it’s COMFORTING
@fictionissocialinquiry Is this you? Is this another blog you keep on the side?
@ifyouwereamelodymeg It (regrettably) isn’t me but while we’re on the topic of tragedy: Didn’t you burn Zuko and Katara once? And don’t you “the smoke inhalation would have got them before the flames” me, young lady…
