Macbeth: A Fictional Narrative

“I understand why the Sofria refuse to have anything to do with the mad creatures,” Tizbeth declared. Tizbeth ambled around the space looking at the jars of slimy pieces of animal parts next to dried flowers. She picked up the remnants of the white and orange candle that Syd used in the transformation spell. Then Tizbeth added, as if she just thought of it, although the thought had been rattling around in her mind since she first mounted, “Donovan likes them.” “Lord Donovan,” Syd corrected. “Humans are funny about titles. It’s a way to spend time with him. And if some of the mostly silly girls master it, you can.” “It is so nice to have people, not just him, which I am looking forward to spending time with. I thought my first order of business

Syd wiped them away, then dropped her hands. “I have things I need to set right, and you have a good life to live as long as you can.” “I’m trying.” “Go on, Little One. The other ladies will talk about you if you spend too much time in the dungeon with me.” Tizbeth left the workshop and found the Lord waiting for her outside her quarters to inquire about what she thought about the ride, a pink wildflower in his hand. Tizbeth, as Lady Dominique, continued her learning and planning of her life. Although she tried to flirt when a few of the squires came through, the words stuck in her throat. Her heart fluttered every time Donovan sought her out, even as other women threw themselves at him. Lord Donovan ignored any woman that approached him first. Tizbeth, on the other hand, most often could be found behind Ann.
On one walk to the night garden, Lord Donovan shared the stories of the globes in the trees. “I always wanted to work with glass,” she said staring up. “That is men’s work,” Donovan said, ready to dismiss the idea. “Making pretty things?” Lord Donovan thought about that. “Pretty things, huh? That is woman’s work. We could go watch the blacksmith at the forge work and see if there was anything you could