Fridays here on my blog are always an opportunity not only to share pretty pictures with my readers, but also gives me the chance to hone my writing skills a little and hopefully inspire others to hone theirs in a similar fashion. Sometimes, the pieces flop. Sometimes, I’m pulling for teeth. But other times, the stories are striking, leaving an impression on those who read it despite being just a little whim of a blurb. Other times, they develop into larger, better stories, and those stories would not have existed if it weren’t for the prompt in the first place. Sometimes (and I’ll admit that today is shaping to be one of those days), I feel a little out of it, a little weary, and not quite up to the task of wordsmithing, but I’m ensuring that I’m still sitting here, butt in my chair, fingers over my keyboard, and I’m going to do this thing anyway.
It’s definitely this sort of dedication that has gotten me to where I am right now, with a book on the brink of being published and a lot more to look forward to for the rest of the year. I’m still hoping to snag one or two more beta readers, if you’re interested, but, right now, let’s get to the picture prompt, from the excellent and eclectic PhotoBotos!
He had watched her drifting, like a scarlet ghost, across the courtyard, the red of her cloak seeming impossibly bright against the darkness of the evening. Still, though her every step was marked from the moment she arrived at the gates to the second she stepped into the door of the tower, nothing could prepare him for the moment she stood in front of him. She became so much more than a graceful, gliding figure; the open cowl of her cloak revealed her face, dark and smooth, and those piercing black eyes.
“Alessandra,” he breathed her name, reaching out to take her hand in his, bending down to brush his lips against the cold skin. “Why, your hand! It is as if made of ice! Are you well?”
Her eyes fluttered in answer; before she could speak, he realized that the long line of her neck plunged down into the cloak, but the hint of chest revealed itself to be bare, and the suggestion of a shoulder seemed to be uncovered as well. His breath left him; he had to fight to keep down a gasp. “My lady,” he said, eyes wide with shock and titillation, “do not tell me that you wear nothing under your cloak.”
Her eyes were dancing now, her lower lip caught coquettishly under her teeth. “I shall not tell you,” she vowed, though the promise continued on in a way that made him shudder with excitement, “what I can just as easily show you.”
There was the gentle rustling whisper of the cloth as it slid away from her shoulders; the cloak slide away from the dark form of Alessandra’s body, gathering at her feet like a cloud, and she stepped forward, stepping out of it as if she had just shed her skin for a new one, and her hand pressed against his chest, over his quickening heart. He opened his mouth to speak to her, to fumble an objection or remind her of the danger in her actions, but she silenced him with her long, delicate finger, and then a long, sensuous kiss.
He saw clouds of red as they tumbled backwards, and he knew everything would be a beautiful, exhilarating blur from there, until she would slip out against, gliding like a ghost, across the courtyard, when the red of her cloak would seem to bleed into the sky of another new morning.
Alright! Your turn! What great words can you create to go along with this gorgeous photograph? I look forward to seeing what you might have to offer!