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A Pocketful of Posies



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Wed Sep 19, 2018 8:38 am
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Panikos says...



Just going to keep the link to my wfp with all my planning notes because I'm tired of trawling back through my wall posts to find it

https://writerfeedpad.com/q2WIOLn17S

Edit: this one's important too. It sets out how the arc between Daisy and Hildegarde will develop.

https://blueafrica.writerfeedpad.com/50
The backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.


~Radical Face
  





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Fri Nov 09, 2018 9:04 pm
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Panikos says...



Another landmark reached - I passed 35k this week! I'm probably not far off halfway. There are some big reveals coming up that I'm super excited for!
The backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.


~Radical Face
  





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Sun Nov 25, 2018 12:08 am
Panikos says...



I found a Mark Twain quote that applies well to this novel:

"What, now, do we find the Primal Curse to have been? Plainly what it was in the beginning: the infliction upon man of the Moral Sense; the ability to distinguish good from evil; and with it, necessarily, the ability to do evil; for there can be no evil act without the presence of consciousness of it in the doer of it."


Spoiler! :
Therein lies my uncertainty about who, exactly, the villain is in this novel. Vie, because she has a posie, feels emotions, and knows full well the pain her actions will inflict? Paris, who has no real capacity for empathy yet causes pain anyway?
The backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.


~Radical Face
  





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User avatar
541 Reviews

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Gender: Female
Points: 41778
Reviews: 541
Fri Nov 30, 2018 1:12 pm
Panikos says...



"Apathy is a sort of living oblivion" - Horace Greeley
The backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.


~Radical Face
  





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Thu Mar 07, 2019 4:11 pm
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Panikos says...



Spoiler! :
Daisy slouched in the chair, watching Paris write. He’d lost his best pen, apparently, and had replaced it with one that was clearly meant for human hands. It looked like a toothpick against his long fingers, and it made his handwriting even more cramped than usual.
“Here,” she said, delving into a pot on the desk. She found a ballpoint pen, twice the length of the one he was using, and flicked it across the desk at him.
“Thank you, Daisy.”
He was the only degas in the house who ever thanked her. Degas without posies were always like that – they’d thank anyone, for anything, because it was all the same to them. She’d thrown a mouldy orange at Kesec once, to see if it might make him flinch. Thank you, he’d said, when it landed in his lap.
“Does he do it more or less?” Paris asked, picking up the new pen. “His dreaming, I mean. He dreams more or less?”
“Dunno. Less. Compared to a few weeks ago, anyway.”
“I see.”
As he made another note, Daisy glanced at the clock on the wall. It was three minutes fast, but even accounting for that, Hildegarde was late. Daisy had been listening out for a bang or a hiss of water, but there’d only been long, lolling silence. She wondered if one of the servants had caught her.
That would be bad, Daisy reminded herself. She pinched the inside of her wrist, hard. Bad. That’s what bad feels like.
“Does he dream about familiar things?” Paris asked. “I think it’s a good sign, if he does. Vie says it shows that his memory is intact.”
Daisy kept pinching her wrist. “He dreams about—”
Bang.
She jumped, half-out of the chair; her pinching nails tore her skin. Paris merely looked up.
“What was that?” he asked.
Daisy pointed, the adrenaline sinking back into her stomach. “The window—”
He turned round. The glass was cracked; a fractured spider’s web sprawled out from the middle. He tilted his head.
“How did that happen?”
A rock, Daisy almost said, but pain throbbed in her wrist, reminding her - bad, it would be bad to say that, bad for Hildegarde, bad for her. Be smart, because Hildegarde damn well isn’t, if she thought this was the best idea—
“I think it was a bird,” Daisy said. “Massive one, it looked like.”
“Oh,” Paris said. He got out of his seat and moved to the window, peering down through the cracks. “I should tell Hildegarde. She likes birds.”
“Not if it’s dead, she won’t,” Daisy said. She had a brainwave. “You should check it’s alright.”
“Shall I?” he said. “I think she’d like to see one. It might cheer her. Vie says she’s been quiet lately.”
“Go check on it, then.”
He went, saying he would be back in a moment. Daisy waited until his footsteps had faded, then rounded the desk and knelt in front of the drawer, which was open by a few inches. She reached in and pulled out a stack of papers, dumping them on the floor and starting to leaf through them.
Go quicker, said part of her brain. If she wasn’t quick, Paris would come back before she found it, and that would be bad – bad, like the pain in her wrist, but that was fading now, and she couldn’t remember what it felt like. Her hands moved slowly. Her eyes roamed over notes and written frames – all nonsense to her. There was nothing to do with the tower. After several pages, her hands grew heavier. Such a massive stack of paper. What was the point, really—?
“Daisy!”
She looked up. Hildegarde darted into the study, shutting the door behind her. She looked windswept, her hands a little muddy.
“You didn’t even shut the door!” Hildegarde hissed. “Are you stupid? What if someone’d walked past?”
She dropped to her knees in front of the stack of paper and started leafing through it furiously, her hands frenetic.
“You threw a rock,” Daisy said. “How’s that for stupid? Vie’s going to realise—”
“I had to improvise,” Hildegarde said, waving a hand. “There was a maid cleaning the bathroom, so I couldn’t get to the pipes. And I tried to shove my wardrobe over, but I couldn’t bloody lift it, so I– I didn’t know how else to distract him.” She sifted through more sheets. “Will you help me, please?”
Daisy returned her hands to the stack of paper and started searching again. Quicker! Hildegarde kept saying, and Daisy wondered when she had ever got so slow. Her mother used to tell her off for fidgeting, for never settling down. Kesec had said once that she talked too fast to follow.
“Here, this, this,” Hildegarde said. “Is this it?”
She held up a sheet; there was a frame drawn at the top, full of spirals and jagged turns and embellishments. Beneath it, Daisy read the words ‘for the purpose of denying entry to the tower to any individual not of the Matreau—’
“That’s it,” Daisy said. She scanned the further paragraph – her eyes caught on ‘condition one’, which said something about heather clippings. “Give it here. I’ve got a pocket—”
“He might notice if it’s gone,” Hildegarde said, lurching to her feet. She leant over the desk, grabbing a sheet of notepaper and the pen Paris had abandoned. It was too big for her hands, but she wrote quickly, wildly, muttering the words as she copied them. When she was done, she stuffed the sheet down her dress, then helped Daisy push the stack of paper back into the bottom drawer.
“Okay,” Hildegarde said, breathless. “Now we just have to—”
She turned towards the door just as it opened, stopping in her tracks. Paris looked down at her.
“Oh. I was just looking for you,” he said. “Daisy said a bird hit the window, and I thought you’d want to see it, but I can’t find it outside.”
“Must’ve flew off,” Hildegarde said, more smoothly than Daisy expected of her. “I thought I heard a massive bang- that’s why I came to look, but Daisy said you’d left—”
She lied quickly, easily. Only the high colour on her cheeks said anything of what she’d just done. When she turned to leave properly, saying that she’d go tell a servant about the crack, Paris released Daisy as well. They kept their distance from each other as they walked down the corridor, staying silent.
But when Hildegarde reached the stairs, she paused. She didn’t say anything – just turned, looked back, and grinned.
Daisy remembered that moment for a long time afterwards.


A deleted part of chapter 24, which I hated but thought I ought to keep.
The backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.


~Radical Face
  








*cries into coffee*
— LadyLizz