RoErBrann

So, it's mental health awareness month. That's a crazy thing for me. I think I'm a lot older than most of the posters here, so talking openly about mental health was something I couldn't do during the times I was experiencing the worst of my lows.

My mental health and anxiety is why I chose to not write between my 20's and my 40's.

I wish something like inkitt had been around in my youth. I possibly would have found the courage to start writing again a lot earlier.

My struggles with depression are expressed in my book. As well as my struggles with low self-esteem and body dysmorphia. Here's a snippet from chapter 7:
After she leaves, I die.

I die, and I lay in my bed, and I rot.

My body decays, it melts.

It soils my bed, my room, my home.

It leaks, it lingers, it destroys.

The stench of my sadness is a physical thing, choking me, suffocating me, making it hard to breathe, and harder to move.

It drowns me in its scent.

The scent of nothing left to live for.

It tells me I have nothing left to live for.

My mother, my brothers, my father, they all come to visit me, but the wild beast that guards my corpse drives them from the room.

It shrieks and cries. It rends and tears. It is unstoppable, untamable, feral.

The days pass, but my decaying body doesn't recognize the passage of time. It does not recognize hunger or thirst.

It is dead, after all.

One day, my mother comes to my room.

She tiptoes in on soft feet, trying not to wake the beast, but it growls.

"Go away." It roars.

My mother ignores it. She is strong when she needs to be. She can face the beast.

"You need to get out of bed, Angel. They will be here tomorrow."

They. Them. Those people.

"Hand them my fertility papers and tell them to go away." The beast cries.

"I can't do that. You need to meet them, you know this darling." My mother tries to talk sense to the beast.

The beast doesn't care. It growls deeper and burrows further into my bed.

I feel the weight of my mother's body as she sits next to me. Her body makes an indent by my hip.

An indent in the place where SHE used to lay.

Where our bodies used to touch. The pain rips me in half.

Who knew the dead could bleed?

My mother gently touches my shoulder.

"Darling if they don't choose you, then you go to Chabal. You don't want to go to Chabal." She whispers.

The beast winces in pain.

The dead remember that there is a fate worse than death.

I move.

******************************************

The moon over Bourbon is a sickle tonight.

Sharp and thin.

A starving slice of its former corpulent beauty.

It is the toxic orange color of disease, of fungus growing on a corpse.

It is poisoned by the dirt that hangs over my city of Pecarre.

A city that is writhing, twitching, strobing.

It's an epileptic seizure in the shape of streets and buildings.

It bursts with sin, excess, and greed.

An overripe and rotten orange burst and spilling maggots into the dirt.

I watch my city dully from my window, and I do nothing to stop the tears that stream down my face.

My future is somewhere nearby.

Death rolling towards me on a Bullet, bearing down on me with expectations that I can not meet and do not want.

I sigh and wonder if I will ever be happy again.

In the distance, somewhere near the Bullet tracks, a ball of orange flame licks the sky.

A hurtling tornado of fire and smoke, rushing to meet the noxious sickle moon.

I feel the vibrations of the explosion seconds after I see the flare, milliseconds before the thundering boom reaches my ears.

My window rattles, shaking me out of my premature death.

Someone has bombed the Bullet.

8 Chapters up and Chapter 9 to follow tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to some feedback.

In a world ruled by the Dictates, strict guidelines designed to keep everyone in line and profit flowing, Maggie Angevin, recently widowed at the young age of twenty-two, has been summoned home by her brutal father to attend the funeral of her only brother.

Her brother's death means her father is now heir-less, and her home is under threat.

Can she convince him to make her the heir to Albion, or will she be forced into a marriage with the rude, guileless, and hopelessly useless Kazuo Nashi.

Tilda Angevin, sweet and subservient, wonders what her role will be when her infamous cousin returns.

At twenty-one, her uncle is yet to arrange a marriage for her, and her future is uncertain.

Ansel Leuven, is deeply in love with her lower caste girlfriend, even though the Dictates forbid it.

She's twenty-six, and time is running out. She will need to choose between marriage to a man twice her age or joining the mysterious order of Ambassdors who enforce the Dictates on young women.

Can she keep the girl she loves and avoid either fate?

Set in a future where the pursuit of profit rules all, three young women fight to find their place, and their happiness, in a mans world, where they have little say.

Hey... if you like characters who don’t promise peace—just plot twists and questionable life choices 😄📚✨
Come read my stories, pick your favorite problem 😂📚✨ and then question every terrible decision they make 😂💥
And if you’re into daily chaos, drama, and updates... follow me 😄📖✨

Made some edits to Chapters 1 & 2. Making things a little more concise, making them flow.  :) 

hello, thanks for the follow. I uploaded my latest fantasy story called Jeremiah’s Journey. It takes a whole new take on destinies.

Hello, Ro!
I would like to thank you for the follow, that means a lot! I hope you enjoy the stories I've provided and have a good day!  

All of the chapters are up! You can read the whole book now. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 14 is up!!

Thank you for the follow, I hope you enjoy my writing

Thanks for the follow! I hope you enjoy my writing. Cheers, Gunner.

Did I mention poor Ansel was forced to marry in chapter 12. Yeah. Next comes the baby in a baby carriage. :(

Chapters 11, 12 & 13 now up. Chapter 13 is a massive 18,300 words long, but it's worth the read cause conspiracies are unveiled and Maggie punches Kaz, multiple times.