loml

Welcome back to the Taylor Swift Song Wheel Generator: The Writing Challenge!

When it comes to Taylor and her songs, they always fill my imagination up the way I believe great artists oftentimes refer to as "the muse". For my writing challenge, I took a song from an album, added a genre, and let the characters and the genre lead the way.

The wheel finally chose fantasy! Yay!!! loml is just one example of Taylor Swift's lyricism that conjures up such incredible visuals within her song. So even though it's another sad song, I was anything but sad when I sat down to write my fae fantasy.

Please enjoy the eighth Wheel Generated Story! And if you decide to write along with me, please tag me in any Social Media posts, or send me an email so I can read it. :)

The Tortured Poets Department - loml - Fantasy

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Fire blazed in the middle of the hall. Acrobats dangled from the ceiling, delivering red wine from their red fabrics. Their faces masked in red, the shadows from the fire flickering as they swung and glided up above. Couples waltzed through those flames, unfazed, unburned. Eyes only on each other, the acrobats and the onlookers completely lost to them.

  The passion in every couple was palpable. 

  Kelda leaned against the far wall; the white marble streaked with black was cool against her mint-green skin. She wore a ballgown of palest pink to match her long, curled hair. With her arms folded, she fiddled with her silver bracelet, her heart longing for her love to stride through the doors on the other side of the room, make his way to her, offer his hand, and lead her to the burning dance floor.

  It had been months since their last dance. Fire waltzing was her favorite thing, and Rowtag knew it. He was never one for dancing, but he was brilliant at it. And they made a beautiful couple. Rowtag was one of the few fae with lilac skin. Most were of different hues of blues and green, like Kelda. His piercing dark blue eyes and black, wavy hair made him stand out like the most sparkly gem in any jewelry case.

  Kelda had loved him from the moment she saw him. She’d worked up the courage to approach him on the very same night two years before. He’d stood around the dance floor, watching the couples waltz through the flames, face seemingly bored of everything in front of him. Drink in hand he left the room, and Kelda had followed him.

  The full moon had shone above, casting shadows over the tree-lined garden. 

  “I see I’m not the only one tired of the tedious social engagement we must partake in over and over,” Rowtag had spoken, his back to Kelda. She froze, unsure of who he was speaking to. He seemed alone in the garden. Turning, he looked her straight in the eye, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Do you not agree?”

  She gulped, but channeled all her courage to step closer and reply, “I enjoy a dance now and then. But yes, the routine can grow quite tedious.”

  His lips quirked into the barest trace of a smile, and he turned back around. Taking that as an invitation, Kelda stepped closer, standing by his side. Looking up at him she asked, “If you could do anything to break the routine, what would you do?”

  “Hmmm”

  They stood in silence for a moment. Then—

  “I’d take you to the moon.”

  Kelda couldn’t help herself. She laughed. So hard she snorted.

  The lip quirk turned into a full-on grin.

  “What? Do you not believe I could?”

  “No one can go to the moon, though that does sound delightful. I’d be honored to accompany you.”

  He held out his hand, another invitation. Kelda took his hand in hers immediately. The difference of his lilac skin against her mint-green made her heart race, it was beautiful.

  “Come along.”

  Rowtag turned his gaze to the moon and wings sprung from his back. Kelda gasped. No fae had wings anymore. Not for hundreds of years.

  The rush of air hit her, yet she was weightless.

  “Don’t let go,” he said.

  “Never.”

  His grip on her waist was warn and strong. She clung to him, her entire being shivering with fear and exhilaration. Below them, the earth became small, barely seeable, like looking through a long hallway at a fae child’s miniature toys. It was impossible to make out any details. Kelda found herself in love with the view.

  Gently, Rowtag set Kelda down on the moon, and she was shocked at how barren it was. The pale white sand shifted easily beneath her feet, and she kept Rowtag’s hand in hers to steady herself.

  “What do you think?” he asked, his eyes taking in the land around them.

  “It’s beautiful,” Kelda whispered. It was desolate and isolating and completely beautiful. Just like the fae beside her.

  “Would you care to dance?” Rowtag asked,

  Kelda trained her light red eyes on his dark blue ones. “Dance? Here?”

  He nodded.

  “I would love to.”

  They stood together, heat radiating off them, and like the couples waltzing down below on earth through the fire, their passion on the moon was palpable. Rowtag led Kelda through the dance, humming a waltz all his own. Kelda stared at him, so in awe she didn’t realize until a minute in that her mouth had been hanging open. She closed it and smiled. He smiled back.

  It was the beginning of a year and a half of pure happiness.

  Rowtag flew Kelda back to earth and they danced every dance after that with only each other, through fire and rain and on the moon as often as Rowtag agreed to fly them there. Every day, Kelda and Rowtag grew closer. She fell in love. She thought he had to. They spoke of the future. Rings and cradles. Kelda wondered what their child would look like. The color of their skin, if they would have wings or not. She hoped they would.

  Their time together was legendary.

  Yet it was momentary.

  How could someone love and be loved so incredibly, so powerfully and wholeheartedly as Rowatg was loved by Kelda, all for it to end so suddenly?

  For one person to say, “We are over,” and disappear, never to be seen again?

  Kelda wandered the earth with only one question she needed answered: Where did Rowtag go? 

  As she traveled to lands near and far, without finding any trace of him, Kelda’s guess was the moon, the one place none of the regular fae could go. Where she could never go again.

  And so that night, and every night before and after, Kelda stood in her ballgown nearest the door to the garden, one eye on the front door, one on the moonlit sky. Refusing to dance with anyone who asked, hoping Rowtag would walk into the room, back into her life, and whisk her away to the moon.

 

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