So, this is my first attempt to publish my work on this site... Not sure how it'll work out, but please read!! :D
Broken promises,
Lay at my feet,
Betrayals and lies,
That I may never beat.
Fallen from me,
Far, far away,
I burden the weight,
As such I have never known.
The trust once given freely,
Is tucked, safe away,
Handled with care,
And hidden for fear,
Of what it might take away.
My dreams all whisked away
Shattered under the pressure
And now the glistening shards
Lay desolately at my feet.
I must leave behind such petty loves
And embrace the crippling truth
Lest the ones I have fought for be gone
And all that I was be forgotten.
Chapter #1
My warm breath puffed out in front of me, slithering fluidly into the clear, sharp mountain air and obscuring the exquisite landscape sprawled out before me with a dense, foggy white. The coolness of the air as it rushed into my lungs was exhilarating, urging me to escape out to the crystalline white slopes as soon as possible.
I paused, holding my breath as a precautionary measure as I surveyed the towering mountains before me. They were both welcoming and intimidating, looming over me and casting me into constant shadow. Their peaks were jagged and uneven, often revealing rocky crags and irregular ravines, all surrounded by perfectly skiable runs. They beckoned to me, pulling me forward into their mysterious and unexplored realm. An airy, exuberant laugh burst forth from my lips, unbidden, but welcome all the same.
A sharp tap on my shoulder revealed that I was not the only one marveling at the mountains. I smiled, not bothering to turn around.
“Hey, Viola!” I greeted my best friend, gesturing to her with a wave of my hand. I heard her let out a small giggle, as bouncy as her tightly wound chestnut curls.
“Well, someone’s eager to make first-tracks,” she told me cheekily, flouncing away off the ornate black balcony and into the quaint kitchen to eat an apple before hitting the slopes.
“Well, anyone with half a brain cell wants to make first-tracks. Anyone who doesn’t has some serious problems.
Besides, I came here to ski, not sleep,” I tell her pointedly, finally turning around. A small, quirky smile was fixed genuinely onto my face.
Viola stood in the kitchen, her long, lanky frame slumped with sleeplessness. Her glossy, chestnut hair sat in a heaping mess, curled into a sloppy bun on the nape of her neck. Her large blue-green eyes laughed at me, and I could see she was already dressed in her purple snow pants, along with her typical other layers, and loosely done black ski boots.
I walked over to her and patted her head in praise. “Good girl!” I told her, pleased. Viola yawned, stirring what I guessed was a triple-triple.
