Conspirators (4)

The moon slid across the sky, illuminating the sleeping city below.

 Across town, the bell tower chimed, its notes long and drawn out like a mournful death knell.

 A figure in a long black coat leaned against the tower, checking his own timepiece periodically.

 He sighed. He was late.

 The clock tolled out the last minute of two o'clock.

 Thomas Blackwell sighed impatiently then straightened as a hesitant figure paused near the tower, peering into the blackness.

 "Blackwell?" the man whispered. "Are you there, man?"

 The man flinched as a dark raven screeched from somewhere behind him.

 He looked over his shoulder in time to see the bird fly over his head and settle somewhere in the darkness.

 "You're late, Grant," Blackwell said, walking out of the shadows, the raven on his wrist.

 He smiled as he watched Grant jump.

 "I'm sorry," Grant apologized, dusting off his trench coat's sleeves nervously. "I came as soon as I coul…

A Warning from Inspira (2)

Hope Grace Tolliver woke up with a start.

Something's outside.... she worried. Who could it be?
She shifted in her bed to look at her husband's sleeping form. 
 "Thomas?" She whispered. "Thomas? Wake up."
 Thomas mumbled in his sleep and turned over.
 "Mmmhmm..." he grumbled sleepily.
 Hope shook her husband as a small light grew larger and larger, coming closer to the window beside her bed.
 Thomas opened his eyes and sat up. 
 "Hope? What's wrong?" he blinked.
 Hope pointed to the window, drawing Thomas' attention to it.
 "Oh...." Thomas blinked.
 The light landed outside the glass pane and a small tap echoed in the room.
 "Do we open it?" Hope asked, turning to her husband.
 Thomas looked over his shoulder at the sleeping child laying in the tiny bed at the foot of theirs'. 
 "Is it safe?" Hope asked.
 The knocking increased, timidly but strong.
 Before they could decide what to do, the window …

The Childhood of James Rupert Quinn (1)

The eight-year-old hid underneath the bed.

 Flashlight in hand, James Rupert Quinn propped it up against a book and shone it on a piece of parchment.

 He reached over and grabbed his quill and dipped into the inkwell.

What to write? he thought.

 James absentmindedly sketched a picture of a magnifying glass.

 Detective stories had always been his favorite ever since his mother had read to him Arthur Conan Doyle's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. It was no wonder that his imagination took him there.

 He happily began to scribble a story on paper, enjoying the way the quill made the pleasant scritch-scratch on the parchment.

 In the next room, he could hear his parents arguing in the next room. They were always arguing.

 It scared James. A lot.

 Which was why he'd taken to writing.

 The characters in his story seemed to understand him, to truly want to help him.

 "I've had enough of it," James heard his father yell. "You ignore me, you ignore the house. M…

My First Aesthetic!

So here's an aesthetic I made for Drops of Inspira using images I found online and of course, Pinterest. The images are not my own. If you find this, let me know what you think in the comments.

Forbidden Magic (6)

The building hung over them like a sign of impending doom.

 If nothing else spelled instant death, Tolliver decided it would be the cracked floorboards, or maybe the musty smell of blood that this place reeked with. Or maybe the skeletons chained to the walls, spiderwebs spread over their frames.
 "What's Damien's story?" Tolliver said, shining her flashlight on the bones of another unfortunate.
 Warren edged carefully over the floorboards. 
 "No one's sure, exactly," he said. "The government shut him up for practicing black magic a hundred years ago, but it looks like he practiced a lot more than that."
 He shined a light on some broken-down gallows in the middle of the room.
 Tolliver gulped. 
 "So, uh, he had a creepy fascination with death and torture. That's nice," she said, wiping sweaty palms on her pants.
 "What are we here for?" 
 Warren made his way towards a set of rickety stairs that led up to another story…

Ross and Tolliver (5)

 Detective Warren Ross raced over the window. 
 From the third story, he could see his ward, Elizabeth Anne Tolliver, hanging out of a window, her fingers gripping the swinging glass of the pane.
 His eyes widened. 
 "What are you doing!?!" he shouted.
 Elizabeth grimaced her knuckles whitening.
 "What's it look like?" she said. 
 "It looks like you're making a fool of yourself, as usual," Ross said.
 "Can you cut the lecture Pops? I can't hold on much longer," Elizabeth said.
 Warren sighed and reached out the window. 
 He pulled the pane towards himself and grabbed her hand as she got near enough.
 "You can let go now," he said.
 Elizabeth's brown eyes narrowed. "If you drop me-"
 "You'll be dead. C'mon. I got you," the Detective ordered.
 Elizabeth let go with a trembling hand and grabbed his proffered hand.
 "Now the other one," Warren said. "I don…

Drops of Inspira (3)

"Excuse me?" a small voice said.

 James looked down at the floor.

 A tiny person with wings looked up at him, a timid smile on her face.

 "Um...hi," he said.

 The little one flew up onto his desk, careful not to step in the Inkwell.

 "What are you doing?" he asked.

 "You're a writer?" the fairy asked, looking at the frustrated scribblings on the pages littered across his desk.

 "Not anymore," James sighed in frustration. He picked up the papers and crumpled them in his hand.

 Turning, he threw them in the trash can near his foot.

 "What do you mean?" the fairy asked. "Those were really good!"

 "No," James said. "Trash. Just trash. All that work for nothing. I can't move past this point."

 He picked up the quill that he'd plunged into the inkwell and watched the ink drip slowly back in.

 "Well, what are you going to do about it?" the fairy asked.

 "Nothing," the w…