The creature had nut-brown skin mixed with patches of ash. It was human-sized and formed, but its skin looked like the bark of an old, old tree. About the same height as Donna, it was spindly with arms and legs that were all joints and angles. Its face was narrow and pointed, with hair on top of its head like thick moss and narrow black eyes that glinted even in the dim light of the room. The thing’s body was clothed in lichen and moss, with vines twining around its sharp limbs. The creature opened its lipless mouth, a dark slash across its twisted face.
Donna’s mind flashed back to the party and the shadow she’d seen sliding through the darkness outside Xan’s house. She hadn’t been imagining things, after all.
The wood elves had returned to the city.
Moonlight was her favorite thing in the world-apart from brown eyes on a good-looking guy
Karen MahoneyDonna wasn't fooled by his lazy movements and sleep eyes - this guy was sharp, underneath the laid-back exterior.
Karen MahoneyDammit woman, stop trying to beat me. I'll sue you for domestic violence.
Karen MahoneyI thought you were going to CALL me? I call this texting ;-)
The reply came back within seconds:
I find it easier to take rejection in writing...
I don't think I believe in angels, that's all. And if you were one, that would mean I'd have to re-evaluate my beliefs. I'm not quite ready to do that.
Karen MahoneyTag: donna-underwood
At the ripe old age of seventeen, Donna had decided that "happily ever after" didn't exist for freaks like her.
Karen MahoneyTag: happily-ever-after
feeling a bit like cinderella, she made it home at two minutes past one last night.
Karen MahoneyHow do you expect me to provide
you with a demon tear if I don’t have a
body? I can’t cry you a goddamn river
while stuck in a bronze reproduction of
an ugly-ass alchemist. A dead one, at
that.”
“You can move your eyes,” Navin ventured. “And you’re a demon. Can’t
you do some kind of demon magic and
produce tears?”
“Demon magic? Have you been eating
Ironwood mushrooms? Demons don’t do
magic. Demons curse. We tear apart
reality and feed on the blood of
innocents.”
Navin shivered. “Stop being so
dramatic. You’re hardly in the position
to tear apart reality. You’d have trouble tearing open a packet of potato chips right now.”
Newton made a horrific snorting
sound that might have been laughter.
“Ah, dear boy. And you said you
weren’t interested in comedy. If only I
could cry tears of laughter right now,
we’d be peachy.”
“Shut up a minute. I’m trying to think.”
“I know. I can hear your two brain
cells rubbing together.
Ever since I first read Midori Snyder’s essay, ‘The Armless Maiden and the Hero’s Journey’ in The Journal of Mythic Arts, I couldn’t stop thinking about that particular strand of folklore and the application of its powerful themes to the lives of young women. There are many different versions of the tale from around the world, and the ‘Armless Maiden’ or ‘Handless Maiden’ are just two of the more familiar. But whatever the title, we are essentially talking about a narrative that speaks of the power of transformation – and, perhaps more significantly when writing young adult fantasy, the power of the female to transform herself. It’s a rite of passage; something that mirrors the traditional journey from adolescence to adulthood.
Common motifs of the stories include – and I am simplifying pretty drastically here – the violent loss of hands or arms for the girl of the title, and their eventual re-growth as she slowly regains her autonomy and independence. In many accounts there is a halfway point in the story where a magician builds a temporary replacement pair of hands for the girl, magical hands and arms that are usually made entirely of silver. What I find interesting is that this isn’t where the story ends; the gaining of silver hands simply marks the beginning of a whole new test for our heroine.
Tag: folklore armless-maiden handless-maiden
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