Is It Purple...Or Just Fuschia?

O Hai, WGW! This is a WoW fanfic I'm currently writing, and I need you guys to tell me what's wrong with it, if anything. My main worry is my writing style - I'm afraid it might have come out a bit more fancy and frilly than I intended. I only have the first chapter done, so that's what I'm posting here.

...oh, and, yes, I am posting under a different account than I normally do. Just in case it turns out that it sucks balls.

And now for:

The Untitled Fic Of Untitledness!

SEX: NONE
PROFANITY: NONE
DEATH: NOT YET, ANYWAY
GENRE: TRAGEDY/ROMANCE

Quote :

Dalaran, a tavern in the western end of the town, back-stage, next to a female high elf named Naelith with glazed-over eyes.

Her fingertips brush the strings of her small birch harp ever so gently, and she stares at the floor as she always does. The door opens, and someone walks in, jabbering away in Orcish. She does not look up, she does not need to. It is not time to play yet. The clock goes tick-tick, and the chatter fades into the background. Her eyes slowly close, and she drifts off to a quieter place which smells of dusty memories. 

Fields of dandelions and orange afternoons and a strange kind of understanding.

Glances at the market when her sister isn't paying attention, busy haggling over the price of fish.

Her mother knows, though, her mother always knows. A reminder of the time they live in and the body to which she belongs.

Apple juice and argument for breakfast and suddenly there is a SCREAM - 

She snaps back to attention, her dream fading as quickly as it came. The scream is from the singer; she'd shut her thumb in a door. Someone in white robes rushes to the scene, and soon everything is fine again. Naelith begins to drift away once more, slightly annoyed that her slumber had been interrupted for something so unimportant - and then, it is as if a switch clicks into place, and she rises from the floor with her harp, because it is time to play again. 

The tavern is quiet; there are not many people visiting today. That is fine with her. She does not like noise, or crowds - they remind her of other things which she likes even less. She pulls her wispy dress out of the way of her feet as she walks to her usual place, sitting down upon the lavender pillow marked for 'harp'.  She steadies herself to play, and the singer begins a sad, lilting ballad in Taurahe. Naelith feels a mild sting in her chest as the song begins, but it soon fades as she goes into her trance and all noise is tuned out but the gentle sounds of her plucking the strings of her harp. She is completely focused upon her music; her gaze and her thoughts are locked upon the intricately carved wood laid before her. She does not see anyone walking into the bar, oh no, she does not see anyone hurrying almost too-quickly to a seat in the corner. But before she knows it, the song ends and she must disappear behind the red velvet curtain which slowly lowers toward the stage. She stands again, dusts herself off, bends down to pick up her harp, and walks away to her quiet room and its quiet pillows and quiet chairs and quiet windows above her bed that show the night sky and its twinkling stars. She sits in the dark and says nothing. Her instrument lays in the corner. The White Lady travels along its path in the heavens, and a short while later its light peeks through the glass in the ceiling and asks if, hello, may it come in? And Naelith's reply is silence.

And there is a shadow at the window.

Well, there you have it.

Note: YES, I KNOW IT'S GOT ELVES. I know this is cliché boring stupid etcetera etcetera blah blah blah. Maaaaybe I'm just doing it because I like elves. >_> Or maybe I'm doing it in order to be lazy and solve potential age-timeline problems. Or I might possibly be doing it because, in a sense, it might add to the twistedness of the eventual romance - I'm going to spoil a little here and say that, yes, this will be two people of different races involved with each other, and it's possible to look at that as being taboo/forbidden/frowned upon/etcetera etcetera. (And, no, don't worry, there won't be ANY half-elven mongrels running around. Heheheh.) Or maybe I actually have no legitimate reason whatsoever. If you think that this is an active problem which will hamper the reader's enjoyment of the story, please, say so.

Anyways. Okay, WGW, hit me with your best shot.

I don't understand why you're worried about posting this under your real screen name, who gives a fuck if its not good, is everyone going to stop talking to you? Are they all that amazing at writing fanfictions that you will less of a person to them?

Anyway, now that I got that out. I have never played WoW but this seems interesting. I got this really lazy feeling from the character, sort of like a dreamy feeling. It was nice. I liked it.

Troll

How am I being a troll? I was asking her a few questions.