In a dark and deep land lives young Marjorie, a woman desperate for something more than her conventional life in her tiny village, Core. She aches for something dangerous, something like the dark forest, Mirkwood, which borders her home.
Yet, there...
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Author's Note
What? Two updates within 24 hours? Yes. I have some exciting news-- for those who may not know this yet!
1.) I am entering this in the Wattys! I will be completing it by early September!
2.) I have a new instagram handle, @AuthorJuneValentine and I would appreciate all kind enough to give me a follow.
3.) I have finished 1/3 of this novel already! It's so close to done! I just have to do four more weeks of work!
Thank you to all who are joining along for the ride! As always, I deeply appreciate comments and votes, as it helps me know what you guys think! :D
Marjorie rushed down her Grandmother's staircase with a quickness she never knew. Now, as her eyes adjusted to the pitch black, the night seemed impossibly darker.
She held a torch in her hand and an empty basket at her elbow. She marched in the opposite direction of the Village. She was going to enter the belly of the beast—Mirkwood.
Sicily was right— praying to Mother would do no good for her dwindling health. Any chance of Grandmother surviving the trip to Beyond relied on the medicinal herbs that grew inside the dark forest. Plants sprouted from the rich green lands of Mirkwood, and when mashed into a thick paste, offered restorative benefits.
The Fewfolk who sold their goods at the market spent their mornings gathering the herbs from the forest. Sungrass for fevers. Motherflower for pain. Devilhair for the symptoms of Brushpaw.
They marked up the flowers to a price Marjorie could never afford and forced the villagers to pay a steep fee or make peace with their pain. But despite the high cost, the villagers still returned each morning with handfuls of coins.
There was a good reason why no one but the brave Fewfolk ventured into the forest. Each time they entered Mirkwood, they bartered with their life. Few who enter ever returned, and if they did, they were never quite the same.
Unlike the villagers, Marjorie held no fear for what may wait in the forest. Behind her, the warm golden glow of Sicily's bedroom window disappeared through the thick canopy of tree branches. Now, the only source of light came from the orange glow of her torch.
The edge of Mirkwood neared, and with it came an unusual uptick in temperature. The forest was an oasis of uncommon weather. Where Core stayed trapped in a frigid winter for the majority of the year and Spring lasted only a handful of days, Mirkwood was neither hot nor cold year around. Instead, it floated somewhere in the middle, a lukewarm paradise. Unlike the Village, rain seldom came to the woods, and when it did-- never with the same lightning or violent wind Core was prone to.
"They are Spring showers," Sicily once tried to explain the difference to Marjorie. "To help the flowers blossom and life grow."
Marjorie unclasped the silver hook of her red cloak to cool off her skin hiding beneath. Tiny beads of sweat formed at the roots of her ginger hair. The changing of temperature meant there was no need to dress in fear of frostbite.
