#earthrunes

"But there was no lie from the Gwydion. I fear there was... was much a tempest, and affection overrode objectivity."

"...Does he bear ill will, from his welcome here? I would not wish damage to Earth Runes' reputation."

"I certainly hope not." Natira shakes her head. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a thick, well-worn book, its leather cover creased from frequent handling. As she sets it on the table, it becomes clear that it isn’t just a novel or a journal—it’s a scrapbook, its pages brimming with newspaper clippings, printed reviews, and what looks like letters or notes carefully pasted into place.

She slides it toward Zara. “Take a look,” she says. “It’s one of my most treasured possessions.”

She raises a pale eyebrow before opening the cover.

As Zara peeks into the book, she finds page after page filled with scathing critiques, each carefully clipped and preserved. Headlines and passages leap out at her—“Shamelessly indulgent fluff”, “A triumph of cliché over substance”, “Formulaic drivel wrapped in satin and lace”—each sneering at the work of Natalie Golde. Some reviewers accuse her of "sacrificing plot on the altar of breathless melodrama." One calls her a "hack churning out dime-store fantasies for the desperate and lonely."

Natira peers over her shoulder, and points at a specific bit of text, "Oh, this one is a favorite. “If literature is meant to nourish the mind, then Golde serves an endless buffet of empty calories.”"

She takes a shaky breath.

"I know... I.. I do know, tis not... I'm no Bronte, or... I know."

"And the genre, it... reviewers dismiss..."

“I won't lie, I was bothered at first—I wanted to track down the first critic who pannedTimberline Hearts as 'a tawdry backwoods daydream for the profoundly lonely” And.... Ooooh! Give them a new one. Or a new TWO."

She tosses her head, horns raking the air for a moment. Then, Natira shakes her head at the memory, eyes glinting with amusement. “But eventually, it occurred to me that all of these people complaining? They read my work. And the fact that they were so bothered by it… well, clearly, I inspired them, even if not in the way I intended.”

Natira sets her teacup down with a gentle clink, her smile turning thoughtful. “To stir that much ire, my writing had to matter to them in some way. Indifference is the real death knell—if a book leaves no impression, it’s forgotten. But to provoke outrage? To linger in someone’s mind long enough for them to rant, dissect, and tear it apart? That means I struck a nerve.”

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Maybe they hated it, maybe they sneered, but the fact remains—they felt something. And isn’t that what a story is meant to do?”

She blinks slowly.

"....Ah." Understanding.

Natira catches the glint, and taps the side of her nose.

Natira’s lips curve into a wicked grin as she leans in slightly. “In fact, if you really wanted to stick it to him… you could dedicate your next book to Sir What’s-His-Butt.”

She waves a hand lazily, as if plucking the thought from the air. “Something tasteful, of course. For Sir So-and-So, whose passionate critiques remind me that love—like literature—should always inspire strong emotions.”

She takes another sip of tea, as pleased as the cat with the cream. “Imagine his face.”

A rattle, like dead reeds shaking in the wind. "Oh, I can."

"I can do all things through spite, and it comforts me."

Natira sets her teacup down again.

“Now, to business, I actually wanted to pick your brain. I was thinking of writing a Regency romance, but..." Leaning forward, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against her cup. “I wanted to avoid stepping on your toes, of course. You’ve cornered that market, after all.”

"We all but are guests in the garden Pemberly built, nu?"

A big smile! "it's a delight to talk to one that understands. My publisher just wants me to churn out a book whenever the dollar sign lights in her eyes start to dim." Rolling her eyes.

"Oh, aye, why mine was suggesting I try my next with dystopian teenagers..." And thus they go, sharing stories only another author may fully appreciate.

"And you know how sexy vampires and sexy zombies are so overplayed? Get this... a sexy Frankenstein's creation, but not in the original sense..."

(Scene!)