Shannon (kungfuwaynewho) wrote,

NaScreeWriMo - Day Thirty-One

I have more written than this, but I'm in the middle of a scene and I don't want to put up just the first half.  I've reached a point in the story, and this always happens around Act Three, where I've put together the climax but am realizing that I haven't fully set up what I need to get there.  Sometimes I go back and edit and/or revise at this point; sometimes I just soldier on and make notes for when I do go back in revision.  In either event, I will make a note of what you would need to know for everything to make sense.

But that's why I rarely bother to do a full outline for a first draft past the midpoint - I know that I'm only really going to work it out as I write.


Ilka works at a feverish pace. She unloads a bag from the wagon, PACKS it with food, clothes. She checks and rechecks the DAGGER at her waist.

A glance at Dominik in the wagon, who stares at her with open hostility. Ilka swings the bag, stuffed full, onto her back. Holds out her arms.

Come. We’re leaving the wagon here.

How far do you plan on walking, Ilka?

(edge of hysterics)
I don’t want to hear you speak! I will walk to the
ends of the earth if I must, if only to never hear
you speak again!

I thought you loved me.
That gives Ilka pause.

Who is asking?

What a silly question.

I used to love you. More than I could hold inside, more
than anyone could love. When I realized that you didn’t
love me, I was able to accept it. I would love enough for
the both of us. Then, after Beta, one day I just looked
around. I had a castle, and servants, and pretty dresses.
It seemed selfish to want more. But after our last son died, I
began to learn that it was not just that you didn’t love
me. You were not capable of love. Not for me, not for anyone.
No, my Lord. I don’t love you anymore.

But you still fear me, don’t you, Ilka?
Dominik looks back toward the mountains. Toward the castle.

You’ve sent a carriage for the boy, haven’t you?

For you both.
Beat. It would be so much easier for Ilka to just give up. She thinks about it...

Quickly, very quickly, Ilka GRABS Dominik and rushes to the bridge.

He SCREAMS, KICKS, FLAILS. But Ilka’s stronger now - in spirit at least - and she soldiers on.

A third of the way across. The day grows dim. Clouds race across the sun. The wind howls as though it had a voice.

Ilka has a harder and harder time carrying Dominik. He fights hard, far stronger than any child should be.

The water under the bridge begins to ICE over. They near the halfway point. Dominik screams - not the high-pitched shriek of a little boy, but the deep roar of a man.

The clouds overhead are black. LIGHTNING strikes behind them, the thunder following almost instantaneously.

Ilka cannot go on. She drops to her knees. One arm tight around Dominik. With her other hand she pulls out the DAGGER at her waist and holds it to Dominik’s throat.

I will kill him. I will slit his throat and watch him die
before I let him go back to that castle. Then I will do the
same to myself, though my soul be damned to hell.
The look on Dominik’s face is one of pure rage.

(in Bathory’s voice)
I will find you, Ilka. Wherever you go, I will find you.
She struggles to her feet, moving inexorably across the bridge.

You will never be free of me! You will know pain as no
human has ever known pain! I will drink the blood
from your still-beating heart!
Ilka screams as she struggles the last few steps, the wind physically pushing her back. Then--

She FALLS FORWARD when the resistance disappears. The sky clears, the wind dies. Ilka looks - she is one step beyond the other side of the bridge.

Dominik starts crying. Good, normal tears. Ilka cries with him. Behind them, the river flows sparkling blue under the sunlight.


Mira stands, blankly staring at the door knob in her hand. One beat follows another.

She opens the door. Across from her hangs the tapestry - the dragon biting its own tail.

Yes. I see it now. Every child knows that story.
She leaves her room, into--


Walking with grace, poise. Past the second door, which stands OPEN. Mira pauses. Turns to look.

The blank-faced manservant stands in the middle of the room, a DOVE held to his mouth. Sucking sounds. He notices Mira. Holds the dove out to her - blood on his face.

Mira shakes her head. No panic, no disgust, just a calm refusal. She continues walking.

Around the corner. The stairs - she descends. Down to the--


She opens the doors, the hinges squealing. She looks ahead, vague anguish on her face.

I should have listened. I should have listened to you.
At the other end of the chapel, Janos stands, wise and beneficent.

Are you now ready to do what needs to be done?
Tags: nascreewrimo, writing

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