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Writing fantasy is hard. Rewarding but really, really hard. Rewarding in the sense that I get to create anything and everything that I want and really that carries a whoop, whoop, wee factor. Hard because creating new language, lands and myths is time consuming and often beyond my focus. There is intense pressure to get those details right and I spend a great deal of time muttering to myself or sitting in front the computer pushing the cuticles back on my nails. On those days I rework what I have written on days that I did have focus. There are several standalone myths in the book Ailanthea Dusk, that I am working on, so in honor of Friday’s prompt from WoE and the wonderful support I got from everyone. Here is a spin of the fantastic.

Dras Eir Ras

Before time when the orb of Ailanthea was just forming in the void dark and lifeless Raislaine rose and wandered grasping the world with blind fingers. She touched the edges of shifting rock and slid on gravel ground. She scaled mountains and traversed empty basins ready for water. Night after night she walked wondering why she was alone in this place her tears falling and wetting the ground. Eventually she walked the whole world and knew not what to do other than to walk it again but this time her fingers felt tiny beginnings of life. Life that took hold in the water of her tears.

She tried to tend these fragile beginnings but it was too cold for them to thrive and because she was blind in the dark she crushed beneath her feet as much life as she gave. So she imagined the opposite of dark and saw colors and plants, water and land and willed new children for Ailanthea. She imagined children nurturing the world, growing as it grew, dancing and warm.  And she lit the sun to warm those born from her loneliness and whose lives she made long. But she was not the only god born when the world formed. Even though they had missed each other on their separate journey’s Drasbaine too had woke, had borne children cradled and loved in the darkness, but they didn’t thrive as quickly or live as long as Raislaine’s sun warmed. Jealous Drasbaine stole their life at night pulling it from their dreams in threads that she then wove into blankets to wrap her own children in.

So Raislaine raised the first moon to drive the dark back, but it was not enough.  She raised the second but even still Drasbaine’s nimble fingers pulled and wove still. Finally she raised a third moon driving the dark away from all of Ailanthea. Drasbaine’s children now adapted to the cold dark shadows began to die. Drasbaine’s mother heart was so broken and her tears so bitter that Raislaine took pity and said, “Cease your dream weaving and I will pull the moons and the sun from the skies for five days and nights of each month. These days for you and yours. This I promise one mother to another.”

Drasbaine, the Mother of Dark and all that live in the shadows, took this bargain and taught the ways of patience and cunning to her children. And though Raislaine’s children’s lives were shorter because of the bargain struck they remained long still and during the darkness span, Raislaine’s children of Ailanthea stay inside knowing these days belong only to Mother Dark and her Draslings. Many decades later, when the first children of Ailanthea finally died whether born of dark or light their souls were gathered by left hand of Raislaine and right hand of Drasbaine and sent up past the moons and sun into the void piercing it, and there they remain the children of Ailanthea finally united.