What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Monday, May 23, 2011

On Dragon's Wings By Desii Resident

Kyriana stood just out of sight atop the spiraling mahogany stair case, auburn tresses pulled back in a gentle tail that cascaded down her shoulders in heavy ringlets. Below her she could hear the wafting sounds of the band playing mingling with the throaty laughs and dull din of the men and ladies gathered there. It was to be her day, or so her father had said, her day to choose which of the six gentlemen would become her suitor and heir to her father’s holdings. She had read the letters of intent as they had arrived, as was her duty and as she stood here now her mind flitted over these and the men that she knew waited below.

Stepping carefully along the polished and gleaming stairs, slender fingers lifted the silken skirts to reveal the delicate heels gracing tiny feet. One step, two, and each descended carefully to carry her into the midst of the gathering as Midnight’s Waltz caressed the air bringing a livelier tune. What grander entry might she have asked for as she took her father’s hand, ducking her head as a rosy hue dotted her cheeks upon noting the glances and full attention turned to her as he led her to the center of the dance floor? A gentle touch upon her cheek brought her gaze up to the weathered man’s kind smile and with a dip of his head he led his daughter into the beginnings of a dance that would soon be interrupted by those seeking her hand.

Grayson, a fine young lad of indirect royal blood, had sent promises of finery and sunny places. Jordan, an elder fellow of kindest regard, had showered her with poetry and songs written by him. Tyler, fair of skin and faint of heart, brought both gladness and sadness as she knew the masks he hid behind. Marcus, valiant and strong, had boasted of spoiling her to fine wines and moonlit dances. Christophe, oh Christophe, he had a wandering spirit and had even spent time with the gypsies, bringing her silks and spices from afar. Last, but not least, Michael had written most true and from the heart as he spoke of evenings spent walking amongst his vineyards.

Each gentleman was afforded their dance with the young maiden, whispering sweet nothings into an attentive ear. An evening filled with promises of a life worth living, gifts most might never see and handsome dowers offered to her and her father. None truly had caught Kyriana’s fancy though she did care for each of them in some regard, having known most since birth.

A few moments after the clock struck seven she sought refuge from the dancing, the wines and foods, upon the patio beneath the majestic oaks that surrounded the manor. Leaning out over the railing her amber eyes flitted over the fields of green that were cloaking in night’s embrace and her mind drifted to fanciful flights of young. How she wished to be anywhere but here in this moment, carried on the wings of butterflies to lie amongst fields of posies.

A clearing of throat brought her attention back to the dance and sounds from within the manor, causing her to spin about to address the interloper. As her gaze fell upon the traveler she felt her breath catch in a soft gasp and gentle heat flare upward to color her cheeks. Before her stood a mystery, face hidden within the hood of his dusty travelling coat. What seemed like ages passed before he stepped from the confines of the door and closed the distance between, pulling back that hood to reveal raven tresses that kissed at his shoulders and eyes of promising silver that danced in the candle’s light from within. The hand offered out to her with a sweeping bow caught her quickly into a tender hug before guiding her back toward the dance floor and in that moment none other existed as her heart had been whisked away on the wings of a dragon.

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