Would you like more samples than what I have provided below? Then you are in luck! I have compiled a Google Document that I update regularly, which you can find here.
Short Response
The color red had always given Sasha confidence. Bright, screaming of urgency and rebellion, red was for special occasions. The red dress with the skirt that spun with her like floating petals when she twirled had always been her favorite. For their date, she had worn her red dress.
The story played on her mind like a pantomime, easily conjured images that seemed almost unbelievable. A day at the park. A cafe. An exchange of words. I love you.
Sasha’s eyes grew wide, face snapping towards Jason as she registered the words. What would have compelled a seemingly intelligent man to proclaim love on the first date? The words seemed to slip from her mouth without thought, as if she already knew how the conversation had played out.
“What does love mean to you?” Sasha found herself leaning in, still incredulous that he had uttered such a bold statement. Yet, below the shocked confusion there was something else. A curiosity. A desire to understand what was going on in the man’s mind. And in it all, she found herself resenting the version of herself that was allowed to experience this whirlwind of emotions first hand, not through the imagined piecing together of Jason’s remembered tale.
Long Response
But that everything I do…Is to help you escape. Or survive without me. Nephamael wielded his words like a dagger, slicing deep into Oisian’s very soul with every utterance. Every quiet moment together was broken by the reminder that the Unseelie knight wanted Oisian to be as far from him as possible. Eyes closed to steel against the agony of the situation, the Seelie gave a curt nod. He finished eating in silence, seeing no point in uttering anything further.
Food set aside, he found himself standing before the other with a wooden sword. The Seelie was not built to fight, he was the perfect servant for this very reason. Soft and malleable, he was all that would be desired from a noble’s plaything. Queen Yvette had favored him above all others for this reason, and it was that favor that had brought him to the Unseelie court to stand before Nephamael with a wooden sword.
Oisian wanted nothing more than a gentle moment. The stroke of his hair or a kind word, the smallest sign of affection he would drink up like a dehydrated man given water. Instead, Nephamael pushed and prodded. Attack me! Hit me! The words spat out between clenched teeth, so easily switched with others. Weak! Naïve! Disappointment! Oisian wanted to cover his ears, to run from the taunting but he knew that would not be allowed. He was too gentle for the calloused world, and Nephamael seemed hellbent on breaking him.
Had he not broken him already? The memory of the morning sunlight filtering in through his window to find the spot beside him in bed empty played on his mind. The cold gaze the man had cast upon him when they were finally reunited. The way he fit against Qadira, lips molded into hers. The cruel words as he forced Oisian to watch him cut the throat of his impostor, watching his likeness gurgle and bleed to death. Rage broiled over, misery tinting his vision red until Oisian lunged forward with a snarling yell. “Why do you hate me!?!”
The wooden sword made contact with Nephamael’s forehead with a sickening crack, the whole of Oisian’s strength behind his actions. Immediately, the flame of outrage burned out – leaving a sickening cold sweat in its place. Dropping the sword as tears filled his eyes, he stumbled forward to check the result of his actions. A trickle of blood forming on the dark knight’s skin. Moving quickly, he reached up to press a healing touch to the spot. Tears flowed freely, but he did his best to bite back the sob trapped in his chest. Voice broken, he murmured apologies on repeat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Nahogani 