Critique & Review

So this is one of the three mini-pieces I have done for this challenge. It takes place about 7-8 years before the start of my actual Novel. The characters will be in at least the beginning of the actual Novel, and Basia (the young girl) is the main character. I would love feedback on this story. Hope you enjoy!!! (Sorry about any errors in advance :D )


The crack of the whip seemed to echo within his mind, though hours had passed since he had been thrown back into the barracks. The sun was just starting to set, the last rays casting an almost magical glow across the walls leaving everything bathed in a subdued yet rich orange hue. Damian slowly pulled himself up off of the floor and stumbled towards the baths, hoping to find them empty, he didn't need to display the evidence of his master's displeasure.

Luck wasn't on his side, as he stumbled into the bathing room he noticed Certa. His breath caught momentarily at the sight of her, her long golden hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves as she lowered herself into the waist deep water, it pooled around her waist, moving as if it had a life of it's own in the grasp of the crystal clear water. She didn't notice him at first, the few remaining rays of the sun bringing out the pure gold strands of her hair, making her appear to glow with an unearthly beauty. She slowly turned reaching for a bottle of oil on the rim of the pool and froze, her soft humming stopped abruptly as her eyes met his.

He momentarily forgot about the welts on his back, the pain melting away as she smiled shyly, the gentle curve of her lips and the welcoming light in her eyes made his head swim with the flood of emotions that coursed through his body and soul. He returned the smile tiredly and began to strip out of his slave tunic and pants, turning to drop them in the corner. Certa's soft gasp made him cringe slightly, his back stiffening painfully as he turned hesitantly to look at her. His eyes beseeched her not to ask, not to push for an explanation of the welts crisscrossing his back. Serta bit her bottom lip, tears welling in her eyes as he lowered himself into the warm water. She took the rag, and without uttering a single word began to gently wash his back. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks as she worked.

When he could no longer stand the touch of the rough cloth on his wounds Damian gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her around to stand in front of him so that he could wipe the remaining tears from her face. "Don't love, I'm fine, as long as I have you nothing else matters," he said quietly.

Certa took a slightly shaky breath and stood on her tiptoes, gently brushing her lips against his as she whispered. "I love you Damian."

"I love you too," he whispered before he stepped back. "We can't risk being seen," he added quietly, more to remind himself than her.

"I know," she said sadly.

They both jumped a moment later as the guards threw open one of the doors into the bathing room, shoving a filthy young girl into the room. The child fell to the tiled floor with a slight gasp of pain, her tangled mass of midnight black hair falling to cover her face. The guards quickly withdrew, closing the door behind them with enough force to shake the sconces on the walls. The girl was still for a moment, not even seeming to breath as she looked through her hair at Damian and Certa. When neither of them made a move she slowly dragged herself to her feet, running a hand across her hair to move it out of her face. Her piercing green eyes caught Damian's for a moment before she dropped turned away, slowly stripping out of her soiled clothes.

Certa and Damian shared a glance, both of them wanting to reassure the girl, but knowing that it would do no good. Things just weren't done that way . . . not when you were a slave. You kept your head down, did what you were told, and above all never made any form of emotional connection to any of your fellow slaves. It was asking for heartbreak. When your life expectancy was little over thirty years, and that only if you retained your good looks and continued to please your master or mistress, having a friend was a very dangerous thing. Certa and Damian knew that better than most, they lived every day with the fear that the one they loved would be sold, or worse.

The young girl slowly lowered herself into the warm water, careful to stay on the far side of the pool from the couple. A look of undiluted pleasure suffused her face as she began to scrub the layers of grim from her body. The signs of the great beauty she was going to become were evident even before the dirt was washed away. Damian felt a stirring of pity for the things the child would be put through. He started to turn away when he caught sight of something on the palm of her hand, his eyes widening as he watched her wash her hair, waiting for another glimpse of her palm.

When it came he couldn't believe his eyes, could he really be seeing the child of Felice's prophecy? He quickly banished the seed of hope that flared within his breast. If she was she wouldn't be the first, though the fact that she had survived to reach childhood was an amazing feet in and of itself. Marked children were killed on sight. After another moment he shook himself and quickly finished bathing, motioning for Certa to finish quickly.

Once they were back in the barracks Certa looked at him questioningly. "What was that all about Damian?" she asked quietly, making sure that none of the slaves returning for the evening could hear her.

"That child . . . she is marked by Felice's Grace," he whispered.

Certa gasped, her hand going to her mouth. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Damian nodded once and took a seat near the brazier. "We need to wait for the others, they all deserve to be told, it concerns all of the Melinar," he said.

Certa nodded slowly, her eyes locked on the bathing room door, hope lighting her face. Damian prayed that it wasn't misplaced.

"Writers aren't exactly people.... they're a whole bunch of people trying to be one person."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald

This is coming together very well kyrsa. Very descriptive, I could visualise the characters well.
You can do a lot with this as a background. :)
I could visualise the baths too having visited the Roman baths at Bath, in the UK. Hmm I can smell that mineral water, and the sun did filter in on the walls in some areas, which were a golden clay colour.

http://gay_belle.livejournal.com

The Zing Thing: "The Makeover."

'Southern Scriber.'

I love this story! 'Felice's Grace' is a great name for it and I'm suitably intrigues still. :)

A couple of minor things: you wrote 'Serta' insteading of 'Certa' once and 'waist' is used twice in the same sentence in the second paragraph.

No Excuses. Just Write.

Thank you kerryn, and gaye-belle!

"Writers aren't exactly people.... they're a whole bunch of people trying to be one person."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald