Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. The word of the day is disappointment. This excerpt is from a WIP, book 8 of the Wytchfae series, a paranormal fantasy romance entitled Silver’s Angel. It features a supporting female character from Lord of Fire and a rockstar named Lucien Silver. When you finish the passage, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Cooley let out a wry chuckle. “I won’t argue with that.”
Lucien closed his eyes and pondered Cooley’s words about music being a soul gift that he should cherish. He rested his elbows on the gunwale and took in the music of the swamp, from the trilling conk-la-ree of the red-winged blackbird to faraway splashing plops. You were never alone out here. Something bigger than you was always present. The swampy smell was as familiar to him as breath. He inhaled and allowed it to wrap him up like a blanket. He was just this side of snoozing when a breeze sprang up, tickling the hairs on his forearms. With it came a sweet scent that overlay the earthy aroma. Flowers. He opened his eyes.
Cooley was staring and grinning at him in amazement, as if he had just hit a three-cherry jackpot. “It’s your lucky day, son.”
He couldn’t help but smile back. “How so?”
“Tell me what’s in the air. Besides the usual swamp, that is.”
“Flowers. I thought I was imagining it.”
“Nope. It’s wild iris. I guess you’ve never heard the story of Disappointment Islet?”
Lucien leaned toward the older man, interested in what he was saying. “I remember hearing about a motte or hump of dirt out here where two newlyweds built a hut and set up housekeeping during an unusual dry spell. It wasn’t long before the waters returned, and they were up to their knees in water and muck. They had to hightail it off the motte. Thereafter, it was called Disappointment Islet.”
“What else?”
Lucien threw up his hands. “Beats me. It’s a legend. An old swamp tale. As far as I know, no one has ever seen the place. If it does exist, it’s probably all underwater.”
“I’ve seen it. I went looking and found the motte.”
“When? How?”
“As a young man, before I meet Vaneta.”
“How do you know it was the same islet?”
“From the skiff I saw the rough marker the husband had painted on a cypress. His wife had died you see. Never made it off the motte. Her name was Iris. That’s what drew them to the place, all the wild iris. The scent was powerful the day I was there. Three days later, I met Vaneta. I have never smelled it since, until today. You drew it to us, boy. You and your gifts.”
“What did the marker say?”
It said “Disappointment Islet, Iris blooms forever.”
Chills ran up Lucien’s spine.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word disappointment. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2025 Flossie Benton Rogers
