All I could do was wait, so I inspected myself in the mirror.  The best thing about me was those eyes.  They were my mother’s eyes, deep and sad.

The worst thing about me was my hair.  Thick and long and beautiful.  But the henna was turning that beautiful honey blonde as red as fall leaves.  Then the indigo would make it dark as ink.  I hated it.

I was furious.  With my father.  With my hair.  With myself.  I picked up the bowl that contained the rest of the henna, and threw it.

The mirror shattered.  I felt better.

--

Back to Eirlys again.  The dyeing with henna and indigo was a central part of my idea for the story, so I wanted to see how Eirlys responded to it.  Obviously on this particular day, she wasn't very pleased.

Interestingly, in the novel draft her eyes are her father's legacy, not her mother's.  I wonder where that changed.

All I can do is stand there and stare at her. She isn’t moving. Why isn’t she moving? I had to find her. Raine made me promise to find her. I found her. We have to go home. I found her. Why isn’t she moving? My father was here a minute ago. Now he’s gone. Katrien isn’t moving. Why isn’t she moving?

Tristan forces me to turn around. I stare, without really seeing him. He pushes hair out of my face, then kisses my lips hard. I surge to life again… and burst into tears. Katrien isn’t moving. She’s dead.

--

Another Daughter of Snow drabble, this time for my least favorite scene, which turns out nothing like this in the actual draft.  Eirlys does go through this emotional turmoil, but unfortunately Tristan is not there to kiss her out of it.

Actually, I don't remember where or if they kiss at all in the draft.

Also, I think every single drabble written to this prompt turned out to be more about death than life.  Writers are a funny breed.

“Please, Eirlys!”

I was too embarrassed to speak and refused to look at Tristan. Maybe if I just didn’t move they would leave me alone.

“What do you say, my lady?” Hesitance touched Tristan’s amused tone.

“Do you even know how?” I looked up to see him offering his hand.

 “Indeed I do.”

I looked around at all the eager faces. Sighing, I placed my hand in his. Deftly he swept me into familiar motion, a complicated one. The young soldier danced gracefully. More surprising was how easy this was. 

Wasn’t dancing supposed to be awkward? Somehow this felt… right.

--

Tristan begged for this prompt.  Literally begged.  And when I passed this information on to the rest of the participants, they readily agreed.

Eirlys really did need convincing, she wasn't just being cute.

Because of the timeline and pacing, I had to drop this scene as well.  But it did give me good insight into both characters' thoughts and feelings.

I shoved my dagger into her hand, wrapping her slim fingers firmly around the handle until she gripped it.

“Get out of here,” I told her.  “They’re going to kill you.”

She stared, her eyes bewildered and uncomprehending.

I shoved her back a step, and then another.  Finally she obeyed me, tripping over the hem of her impractical gown as she disappeared into the forest.

When my father returned, it was to swear and beat me.  I took it in silence.  Perhaps I was a traitor to my father and to my lord, but I had not betrayed Lady Eirlys.

--

This prompt immediately followed Walls, and the scene I wrote for it immediately preceded the scene written for Walls.  It was the first time Tristan spoke up and gave me his side of the story.

This scene also made it into the first draft of Daughter of Snow, in an expanded form (and from Eirlys' point of view, of course).  The only details that don't make it in are the last two sentences, because she isn't around to see them.  I have no doubt the event actually occurred.

I had to run, although this dress was not designed for flight and my body was even less prepared.  

I stopped when the adrenaline left me.  The surrounding trees seemed to move, to come closer.  Inspecting me.  I was trapped in the circle.  I began to panic, choking on my own breath.

It was dark, and if I looked up I could not see the sky.   The dark walls taunted me.  I clutched something so tightly my hands ached.  What was it?

I looked down.  Tristan’s dagger.  Little good it would do me out here, against an army of trees.

--

This drabble was based on the prompt but was also inspired by the forest scene in Disney's Snow White, which is one of the most frightening Disney scenes ever once you're older than the princess herself.

When I got to writing this scene in the first draft of Daughter of Snow, I actually took out this drabble and used it as an outline.  I expanded some sections and lifted entire sentences to use word-for-word, and I'm really pleased with it.

I like to think it's nearly as frightening as the forest scene that inspired it.

It was uncomfortable, sitting in the sunroom.  In the chair across from me, as calm as if this were completely normal, sat my own maid.  She looked so comfortable in that dress of Mother’s.  But she studied me too closely.  I almost thought she intended to eat me with the tea.  

I felt suddenly dizzy, and ill.  This was wrong.  She was the maid, not the lady of the house! 

I knew I was trying to live in the past, and sooner or later I would have to face the facts: Mother was dead, and this woman was my stepmother. 

--

(No, the irony of Tea following Teal does not escape me.)

I decided for this drabble to start attempting to work with the characters for my novel, Daughter of Snow.  This scene of Eirlys with her mother-turned-maid-turned-stepmother (no, don't ask) never made it into the first draft.  The timeline and pacing changed from my original vision, and this ended up on the cutting room floor of my brain.

But it's still a good study of Eirlys.  Trying to live in the past, being uncomfortable and awkward, knowing she's doing it but finding it too difficult to change.  It was a good personality for her, and I'm pleased.