Tales of the Kingslayer

Elio stared at the head writer in front of her, an apologetic look on her face.

"You're late," he said after a keen observation, fixing his eyeglasses to perch perfectly on his sharp nose.

"I'm sorry, sir. I got lost and couldn't find the workshop room."

He looked down at her, sneering silently. "Can't you read?"

She grimaced, lowering her gaze. "My phone's dead–"

"Excuse, excuse," the head writer clicked his tongue. It was apparent how much he disliked her already. "My phone's dead, I got lost, I accidentally had a one night stand and overslept. Sounds familiar? You should be thankful you're not working here. Else, I'd fire you for unprofessionalism."

'What is it with people firing me today?'

"I promise not to repeat this, sir. Please forgive me."

She knew drinking with her friends the night before was a mistake, but that blue-eyed evil incarnate was the one that almost cost her this workshop. She had worked hard to be noticed and invited to this workshop, damn it.

The bespectacled head writer then redirected his focus down her chest. "And what is this?"

Elio looked down at her wet shirt. Now colored red. "I stumbled and accidentally dumped a bucket of artificial blood, sir."

It was better than telling him the truth.

"Not only late and disturb my carefully planned workshop, but you are also this clumsy?"

She could only lower her head even more and study the contrast of her haphazardly tied, dirty, green Converse and the head writer's spotless, natty white sneakers.

Fingers snapped in front of her eyes, startling her to look back at him. "What is your name again?"

"Elio Greys, sir. I just graduated from–"

"I don't care whether you just graduated from the best university in the state or from a farm school at the edge of Earth, Elio Greys," the red-haired head writer interrupted, testing her name with a sour look on his face. "If you are going to be late again tomorrow, don't bother to come."

Elio grimaced, "I'm really sorry, sir."

The head writer clicked his tongue again and gestured for her to take a seat.

She did so without making a fuss, painfully aware that all ten pairs of eyes in the meeting room were staring at her. It was true that she wanted to be the center of attention – but not like this.

"Ugh, I'm royally fucked," Elio muttered under her breath as she claimed the empty seat at the end of the long table.

A soft snicker came from her right. "You got balls, girl. Still on the first day and you go against one of Nevertale's best screenwriters, Jed Hazelwood."

Elio pursed her lips and turned to the short-haired girl sitting beside her. "I call that an episode of Unfortunate Event in Real Life."

The short-haired girl chuckled then, garnering a shushing sound from the unfriendly-looking man on Elio's left. She ignored him and shook hands with her instead.

"Cecilia White. Hopefully you keep this workshop interesting from here and on."

"Elio Greys," she introduced herself. "It's Nevertale, don't tell me you got bored in a workshop held by the new giant in the film industry?"

Cecilia snorted, leaning closer to whisper in her ear. "Mr. Hazelwood might be the best screenwriter of Nevertale, but he sucks in this workshop."

"Oh … at least I was spared of the boring first few hours then?"

And true to Cecilia's words – Jed's workshop reminded her of the mind-numbing lectures in maths lessons in high school. Perhaps she was putting too much expectation on this workshop.

Elio wondered if making threats to that blue-eyed – probably extra – man was worth it.

The moment that day's schedule finished, she was the first one to pack her notebook and handout papers, leaving her seat right away with Cecilia in tow.

She was still embarrassed after Nevertale's head writer called out to her in front of the entire workshop participants.

Due to her hasty departure, Elio didn't realize that one of her belongings had fallen on the floor. Lying unseen under the long table of the meeting room they used for the workshop.

Well, unseen – except for a pair of dark eyes behind a pair of glasses.

Jed picked the leather bound journal from the floor, flipping it open to look for a name. He didn't find one, but he found something else in return.

"Tales of the Kingslayer?" Jed snickered at the cursive letters on top, thinking nothing would beat this corny title.

Be that as it may, he used that evening to read the hand-written script on the leather bound journal with no name. Even though the script lacked a driving character that moved the plot, the detailed characterization and careful world-building made up for it.

"Interesting," the head writer muttered, flipping to the last pages and finding a sketch of the main character – a teenage boy with white hair and left black hand, a luminous blue circle on his palm. "A little more work and I'm sure it'd be a hit fantasy series."

Jed placed the unidentified journal on his coffee table. Thinking that it must belong to one of the workshop's participants.

He tried to remember where everyone sat today, but it came short. He wasn't that good with names. Out of ten participants, only one name came to mind.

"Elio Greys?"

It was the only name he remembered, thanks to her spectacular entry – almost two hours after the start of their workshop.

_________________

On the third floor of Nevertale's production office, Ender froze on his track. His striking blue eyes were wide, as if staring at a ghost.

"Raven?"

A woman's voice entered through his ears. Sweet, almost on the verge of shyness.

Calling his name oh so dearly.

"I thought you were abroad? When did you come back?"

But he was silent.

"Raven Coldwell? Are you alright?"

The blue-eyed man flinched at her honey-dripping tone. "Why are you here?"

"Why …" she chuckled, brushing her blonde strands away from her beautiful, flawless face. "That's a funny question. You know I shoot my films here."

"No, you can't–" he started, stopping short with stilted breath. "You can't be here."

"Raven–"

"I can't be here!"

He left in hurried steps. Colliding with someone–