charlotte meilaender
Bio
Performing artist with an itch for writing. Fueled by coffee and the age-old wish to create something worthwhile. Welcome to my world <3
Follow the journey on my instagram @cmmwriting for updates on my stories and behind the scenes looks.
Stories (21/0)
A White Cat
9 pm on a Friday night. Ana had no particular feelings about Friday nights—they were neither good nor bad, neither a reason to celebrate or a reason to complain. She was old enough to value a night curled up with a good TV show much more than a night out with friends, and that was how she spent most Friday nights, as well as most other nights of the week. (Though she would never admit it aloud, Ana had never really spent a night “out,” and could count her partying experiences on one hand. What did one even do at parties?)
By charlotte meilaender2 years ago in Fiction
Hell's Ten
This is Part 3 in a series! Parts 1 and 2 are up here: Part 1 Kace, Part 2 Ethel Marko woke up with a raging headache. Groggily he rolled off the narrow couch where he lay and passed a hand over his face. Too much again last night. Too much to drink, too many games of dice, too much fun. Through the curtain that separated him from the front room, he could hear talking and laughter, although it was now early in the morning. Voices slurred, heavy with drink, and he could hear bartenders ordering customers out when they got too rowdy. He stumbled over to the washbasin in the corner, groaning as he fumbled for the tap.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Fiction
Hell's Ten
This is part 2 in a series. If you haven't read part 1, you can find it here: Hell's Ten, Kace. Ethel had been waiting, pacing up and down as the hands of the clock moved steadily onward. Oscar always told her she didn’t have to wait up for him, but she always did, knowing the dangers that lurked in the streets of the city at night. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t have chosen to live in this part for a thousand dollars, but that was just the problem, she didn’t have a thousand dollars to spend on anywhere else. Her father had gambled it all away.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Fiction
Hell's Ten
Kace went down the road towards home. There were two things weighing heavily on his mind. The first was Gall’s warning, the second the shipment of explosives he now had on his hands. When he’d bought them he’d thought to sell them again right away, for a good profit, but the coppers patrolling around the docks had quickly changed his mind. What had caused the sudden tightening of security? Would there be more raids? He passed a hand through his hair, blowing out a heavy breath. His body ached and he wanted nothing more than to get home, maybe have a hot bath, sleep for an hour or two before business called again.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Fiction
The Pointless Art of Reinventing Myself
I make a lot of New Years’ Resolutions. Like, a lot. I write them out in a pink bullet journal in neat, color-coded order, and then close the journal and—like so many of us—never look at it again. All the while I loudly declare that New Years’ Resolutions are useless and a waste of time. After all, what really is the difference between December 31st and January 1st? Nothing. Nothing at all, except the undying hope that we can make things better.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Motivation
Back Home in the Middle of Nowhere
I have a complicated relationship with missing people. When I did my first stint away from home at sixteen, I was excited and champing at the bit to get out into the world. I spent five weeks away from home (granted, it was less than two hours’ distance), at a summer ballet program in a nearby city. The city, that distance of less than two hours, brought with it a culture shock in stark contrast to my hometown. I got used to subways, to walking, to my daily commute, to a diversity of people that rural, white America never showed me, to crossing the street to avoid the men loitering in front of corner grocery stores, fingers crossed no one would follow me home. At sixteen, I took on these challenges with an optimism older me both admires and misses. The change from country to city, from quiet to loud, from slow to busy happened quickly, so I put my hometown out of my mind and adapted.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Families
Member of the Guard
Iveta trudged along by her mother’s side. She peered through the skirts of the other women around her, looking for the distinct uniforms of the soldiers marching ahead. There were more soldiers behind them, and here and there a few figures on horseback. Iveta wished she were traveling with the cavalry division, that was far more exciting and sometimes you could get a ride on someone’s horse, but the cavalry only joined them when they made camp for the night.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Fiction
Realm of Skill
Joz was worried. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he was a little scared of returning to the Stash empty-handed. He had only been working for Xander Lanthorn for two months, and he had already seen what happened to people who crossed him. Xander had made his life immeasurably better, it was true, but he ruled his small kingdom with an iron fist, and Joz knew the price of failure would be even worse here than in the outside world. He had reached the Road of Tears, and the dark shape of the Stash loomed before him. He slipped into an alleyway to approach the building from the back and buy more time. He needed to think. He needed a way to get a time jinx before dusk. He stepped around a corner and stopped short, hands already raised, as he saw a shadow break loose from a nearby wall. It morphed into a small, cloaked figure, hood pulled low over its face. Joz brought his hands together, ready for an attack, but the figure paused and then gave a low laugh.
By charlotte meilaender3 years ago in Fiction