No But This Is Such A Mood. Why For The Life Of Me Cant I Get My Finger Placement Right On My Cello.

no but this is such a mood. why for the life of me can’t i get my finger placement right on my cello. i have to play this in a little over a week. but nooooo instead i have to fail

😭😭😭😭

why are my fingers not working. please i need to play my harp right now could you guys cooperate.

how’s it going? i’m bored and avoiding my family.

I’m dying, because of my family😭😭

yes.

this is so good.

So.

I'm writing a book series that is HEAVILY based off of the French Revolution. It's called The Reign of the Revolution (or TRotR for short). Here's the backstory of my main character, Silas Crow. It also explains how the revolution began. I plan on including this in my first book, so I'd love it if you could read it and give feedback! Thank you :)

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Up until a few weeks ago, our country of Losca was at peace. Or at least, as much peace as you can get with a self-obsessed emperor.

Emperor Endox II had been a horrible ruler ever since about three years ago—shortly after his twenty-eighth birthday, when he killed his father to get the throne for himself, and with him, his mother, since she tried to protect him. Everyone put up with him at first, since we knew how dangerous he was. But then things started getting out of hand.

A few months ago, news spread throughout Losca that Endox’s wife, Meralina, had been brutally murdered by him after they had an argument about matters regarding their son, Prince Faelen. What matters, no one knew. In fact, rumor had it that the man who told this story in the first place was never seen nor heard from again.

Endox only grew more unfair and selfish since then. Taxes had already been high for us peasants—sailors, farmers, and laborers alike—but Endox didn’t stop at this. A few weeks ago, he raised them impossibly high, and for what? So that he could benefit off of the people’s hard-earned money. He raised them so high that many peasants started dying of starvation.

By then, we’d had more than enough, so we protested. A simple, bloodless protest. But since peasants made up over seventy percent of the population, we had Estraham Castle surrounded, and the king’s troops panicked.

So they attacked.

The March on Estraham marked the beginning of the Loscan Revolution. Hundreds of lives were lost that day: the king’s troops—twenty-seven; the peasants—over three hundred.

My parents included.

I could still hear the gunshots; the screams of innocent protestors. I could still see the horror on my mother’s face as my father was shot square in the chest, blood spewing violently from the wound. I still felt her fingers digging into my arm as she begged me to leave, to save myself—but they didn’t seem to hurt. Nothing hurt. I had gone numb.

Then she, too, was shot. As the bullet struck her in the back, I heard myself screaming, crying, begging for her not to leave me.

Yet she did.

The last words Mimá said to me were, “Vei livé, Silas.”

Live free.

Those words were since etched into my mind.

I vaguely remembered running away, ignoring the pain in my shoulder as a bullet ripped through my flesh, and pushing through the crowd that was rapidly falling around me. I ran, and I didn’t look back.

After what seemed like hours, I found myself in a small alley. I touched my injured shoulder with my other hand, and it came back soaked in blood. Ripping off a strip of cloth from the bottom of my trousers, I wrapped it tight around the wound and knotted it. That took up the last of my energy and willpower. Leaning my head against the stone wall, I slid to the ground and closed my eyes.

Vei livé, Silas. Vei livé…

And it all came flooding back.

That was it. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Tears streamed down my cheeks as great sobs shook my body. They were gone. My parents were gone, along with far too many others.

And I was alone.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, nor did I care. I remembered hearing voices outside the alley and the stomping of boots. The king’s troops, no doubt searching for anyone who escaped. They never found me, but if they had, I wouldn’t have fought back. What was the point?

Then I remembered what Mimá had told me to do—to find the Nemesis. I wasn’t sure what that was, but one thing was certain: I couldn’t let any of their deaths be in vain.

So I stood and brushed away my tears, hearing my mother’s voice in my head once again.

Vei livé.

“I will, Mimá,” I whispered. “I promise.”

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Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think, things you liked, suggestions you have, etc.

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