Mine was lovely too, btw.

All of these snippets are killer, though.

*claps for kwsni*

But if you write THIS will I ever get to find out what happens to poor branded Adrean? (aside: I actually had a guy branded on the face in one of my stories, too. Frightening, how similarly twisted minds think alike.)

Edit for spelling

More Romance

Look! More!

Closet Romantic Am I?

How Old Was I?

When I wrote these?

quote:

---

Just write it with a generic name like "Bill"

---

I think I would prefer not to see a bodice ripper about Leto and my husband!

Never before had winning a fight meant so much to Jonathon. Ever since the English had killed his beloved Jeanette, Jonathon had cared for nothing, no one. He had taken to jousting and fencing to make enough money to drink himself silly, only to move on to the next city. Until this moment, he had thought that Jeanette had been the only good thing in the world. And now this Siren, this Venus, was tempting him to love again. Pain and life flowed into his veins. His mount could feel the energy, and it became anxious under him.

"Only a few moments more," Jonathon whispered to the horse. "Only a few moments before I can unhorse this knave and kiss those sweet, sweet lips."

The knave turned out to be a fool as well, and Jonathon had him on the ground within a few moments. He had fought better, more passionately, than he ever had. And now, his prize, a kiss from the lady, his sun-goddess.

She came to him with grace that a swan would envy, her red lips parted in a subtle, tempting smile. Her perfect shape drove Jonathon nearly crazy. She came to him, stood only a few inches from his face. Jonathon drowned in those deep, hazel eyes. One perfect white hand rested on his shoulder, the other pressed against his chest.

"My good sir knight," she whispered tantalizingly. "I have never before beheld one so valiant as you."

Jonathon couldn't restrain himself anymore; he kissed her with a furious passion. Their souls blended--

--no, she sucked his soul into hers, leaving him parched and empty. In a moment he fell, stunned and stupid, on the hard dirt of the ring. She was gone. That was the only thing he knew. As she commanded her guards to carry him away to the dungeons, his only regret was that the devilish kiss had ended. She had his soul--and while she held it, he had no live but eating and drinking and breathing.

***

Jonathon could hear the soft shuffling of footsteps approaching his cell. A face appeared before the barred window of the door, small and brown, with large black eyes. Dirt was smeared across the girl's nose, and Jonathon could see that her cheek was bleeding.

"How do you feel, Jon?" she asked softly. "Are you quite all right?"

"She...she is gone," was all that Jon could muster. The kiss burned as hot in his memory as if it had ended only seconds before.

"She is a demon, Jon. She has bewitched you. Please say you don't love her, Jon. Love me. Please. I have always loved you."

Jonathon looked at the girl's face, tried to remember her name. "Vana," he said. His childhood friend, never more than a companion. She had loved him? No, he could not let her distract him from the kiss...the kiss...

"Yes," Vana said. "I love you, Jon. Can't you try to love me back? It's the only way you'll ever be able to get your soul back from her, is to forget her, to love again."

"I'll never love any but her," Jonathon replied. "I don't even know her name."

"Her name is Vile," Vana insisted. "Kiss me, Jon. My lips burn for yours. Don't you see the love in my eyes? I will be your wife, your love forever. She does not love you. She never did--Oh, Jon!"

Slowly, deliberately, Jonathon came to his feet. Vana's teary eyes seemed to enchant him with their purity, their sincerity. Why had he never seen her before?

quote:

---

"Only a few moments more," Jonathon whispered to the horse. "Only a few moments before I can unhorse this knave and kiss those sweet, sweet lips."

---

"Put down the gun!" Dexter shouted, prepared to take down this two-bit criminal if he didn't drop his revolver.

The revolver made a clank as it dropped to the sidewalk of the Steel Bridge. Two arms slowly came up and the perp turned around with a combination of fear and fire in his eyes.

"Don't kill the messenger," he joked, lamely.

"Then the messenger shouldn't provoke me, eh?" Dex retorted. "Where is he? Where's the one who send you, 'Messenger'? Who are you errand-boying for, eh? EH?"

The sight of Dex's gun pointed straight at his heart made droplets of sweat pop up from the Messenger's forehead. The images of a thousand thoughts ran through his head, visible through the eyes that were windows in his mind.

It seemed the Messenger decided that death on the Steel Bridge was a better fate than to reveal who he was working for, and a sort of resolve and panic manifested itself on his face.

Through the fog that misted the night, the Messenger ran at Dex, barely making it to the single ray of light from the bridge's street lamp before Dex brought him down. The shot rang out like thunder, and fresh blood of the Messenger stained the concrete as he finally jerked to his death.

Dex blew the smoked out from the tip of his gun, then set it back into it's holster. He shook his head a little sadly, a little sagely.

"Don't come after men with loaded guns," he advised the Messenger, belatedly.

That was when he heard the clipping of high-heeled shoes in front of him. He looked up and instinctively went for his gun again. Walking into that ray of street-lamp illumination was Toretha, gliding in her usual sultry manner toward Dexter. She gave the man lying dead but a small glance as she made the distance between herself and Dexter obsolete. They were now mere inches from each other.

"Dex," she said, a gave him her heart-melting grin.

Dexter took in all of Toretha. Only a week before, he had never seen her. But now he couldn't imagine his life without her. Her rich chestnut hair, her chocolate brown eyes. The way that red dress hugged every aching curve on her sensuous body. First time he'd seen her he'd said, "Great stems." He still hadn't seen a pair of legs to match them...

As it always did, the need to take her in his arms preempted all other thought. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, pressing the length of their bodies together.

Before he could come down for a kiss she put a single gloved hand up to his mouth. "Not yet, Dexter." She pulled back and out of his grasp, then turned around to look at the dead Messenger.

She shook her head as if she was disappointed. "Good help is hard to find these days," she said, signficantly. Then she knelt down to the body, opened the coat jacket and pulled out an envelope from the inner pocket.

All at once it made sense to Dexter. The chance encounters they'd had, the information he couldn't figure out how she'd known, and now this...

But his mind rejected it.

After folding the envelope and placing it in her purse, she turned back to him.

"I know what you're thinking, Dex. I can see it in your eyes. I know it, because it's what I thought the first time I realized who YOU were." And then she came back to him. She came back to him, but didn't embrace. Her face hovered near his and she said in his ear, "But I've made it work this far. I've made it work with you, my sweet little detective. Can't you make it work with your sweet little Ring Leader?"

Dexter looked at her like she was mad. He pushed her away and staggered back a few feet. "No, no!" he said, his mind still trying to purge the information. "NO!"

Her face gave the most sincere expression of sadness he'd ever seen. A single tear ran down her face, and she nodded in acquiescence. "I understand.

"I have four men watching right now, all of them heavily armed. I'm not going to have them kill you. But if you try to shoot me, by the time your gun recoils you'll be on the ground next to me," she informed him. "So, this is our last goodbye.

"Shall we make it count?"

Toretha once again sidled up to Dexter. His mind swam with all this new information, but his body reaction with the old-familiarity of meeting her body. The last goodbye, the last time he'd have Toretha in his arms...

He grabbed her waist and pulled him to her. She buried her fingers in his hair and brought his head down. The two of them played mad passion with their lips as they said their final goodbyes. She kissed every inch of his face, he left a small red spot on her neck.

And, almost as quickly as it began, it ended. Toretha reached into his pocket and took out his cigarette case. She looked up at him and said, "Souvenier."

He nodded and then watched as she walked out of the light into the fog. Out of his life. Out of his world...

But I liked it so much because it wasn't as typical, and I was an innocent heroine, and a surprise. Very like me.

We're getting almost as popular as the ice cream personality profile!

May I make a suggestion?

Everyone participates by writing scenarios, but you must build on what other have written. For example, if one writer pairs up Leto and Vana, the next one can't have Leto with Ophelia unless the writer makes some reference to the fact that he's two-timing Vana.

Perched on one of the stone benches in the manor's Roman style amphitheatre, Coriann allowed herself a moment of self-indulgence and reeled at the overwhelming details of her life. Her head bending over to be buried in her hands and she thought of recent events that would shape her life. Events that had already shaped her life forever...

From the manor house, Joseph caught a glimpse of the slight figure cradling her head in her hands. He watched as she pulled her legs up and wrapped her hands around them, looking contemplative and not a little sad.

Only a week ago Coriann had been a burst of sunshine in a darknened land. She had brought cheer and wit and sparkle into a house that had not seen such things for years. She had changed this house, she had changed the occupants, she had changed Joseph...

But what happiness she had brought into this house could not last. The curse of Lake Manor could not be thwarted, and rumors in the night had reached sweet Coriann's ears. Would she believe the rumors? Would she allow the poison that ran like blood in the walls of this house to remove the love she felt for him? Would she really believe he had killed his first wife?

Joseph resolved to talk to her, to let her know of his feelings for her. He had allowed her to brighten his life, but had he ever explained what she meant to him? He had not. And it was time.

Coriann heard the tap of shoes on the amphitheatre's steps descend towards her. She did not look back, but instinctively she knew it was Joseph. She could feel his soul calling to her, signaling her like a beacon.

"Coriann," Joseph began, saying her name softly.

Coriann then turned and looked into Joseph's eyes. She saw sadness and the beginnings of resignation. She opened to her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, unsure of what to say. Did she feel betrayed? Frightened? Or just lonely for the man she had grown to love?

Facing back to the amphitheatre stage, she said, "Does it ever seem to you that our lives are those of actors? We play our parts, well scripted, and then Fate throws us a character we had not studied the lines for. We flounder. We flounder in front of our audience.

"And sometimes I think that's what the audience wants the most."

"The servants-" Joseph began.

"Shhh," Coriann hushed him. "If I thought you had killed your wife, Joseph, I would have packed my bags and left you the moment I thought it. I am not a weak woman, and even if I had to scrap for my living I would rather do that than live with a man I could not respect, even despised. But you... You I cannot know how I feel. I do not think you have killed your wife, but there is something you are keeping from me. Something that makes me wonder just how... Just how you feel for me, Joseph."

Joseph's eyes filled with the glory of Coriann's. "Just how do you feel about me, my love?" she asked.

Joseph'as feelings suddenly choked him, and he felt such emotion that his face flushed. Could he explain in words how he felt for his goddess? His princess? His Coriann...

He took her in his arms and scoop her up from the bench. She was so small, so delicate, and yet the steel in her spirit could not be bent. He did not want to break that spirit, but to bind himself to it. He needed her strength. He needed her love...

Hot kisses were rained on with tears from each of their eyes as they proclaimed their love for each other right there, right in the amphitheatre. They could not let the other go, no, nor could they dream of it.

"Love me," said Joseph. "LOVE ME," he prayed to her in the night. "Love me, for I cannot but love you..."

You're being unfair, you're supposed to write skanky ones! No one will request me anymore.

j/k

Don't want to be pigeon-holed, you know. I want to be a diverse hack romance excerpt writer.

Nick gazed on her with hooded eyes, his strong, supple hands working automatically as he stood at his station at the plant. She was new to the work line. It was obvious, not so much because the uniform, which fit to her fine form like a second skin, still showed its packing press marks, but because he'd never seen her before. They didn't call him Neverlate Nick for nothing. He never missed an opportunity to dip his hands into his life's passion, and so was always on time, never missing a day.

Yes, she was new. Her hair so cunningly caught up in the net, he was sure that let loose, it would cascade in long sweeping locks, like the lapping waves on the shore at low tide. He licked his lips in anticipation. Surely they would introduce her to everyone on the line, especially him, as the most experienced worker here.

She looked around her and seemed confused, as if she weren't quite sure how she came to be there. Nick wanted to slide his hands through his hair to make sure that he looked his best. It would not do to have such a creature as she see him even the slightest bit disheveled. But he dared not pull his hands from his work. He put his appearance out of his mind manfully.

When the trainer handed her the knife, Nick was captivated by the way her fingers curved around the handle. Long and thin yet strong and firm, he could see that with hands like those she would be a natural at this work. Blood didn't seem to bother her either, which held promise that she might last longer than the usual new recruit. Girls...no, by the way her breasts filled the slate colored uniform she wore, she was all woman and he would call her that, even in his mind... women, as new recruits usually were a bit green by the time they were handed the knife.

The trainer swept his hand down efficiently to demonstrate the technique, then handed the exquisite creature that had so thoroughly captivated Nick's attention her first victim.

In one clean sweep, the object of Nick's everlasting love sliced the belly in a straight line, then pried open her cut to pull out the guts. Yes, oh yes, Nick exulted in his mind! She is The One! The One I have waited all my life for. In her first gutting, she cleaned that fish with such expertise, such grace, such efficiency, so thoroughly!

Forgetting himself, he threw down his own knife and ran to capture her in his arms.

It's Kathryn, not Katherine.

And you didn't even make me a buffoon!

And I'm so glad she never found out I really did—never mind.

Katie - I'm sorry. I'll go edit it.