Review: Guest (chapter 15 . Jul 16) This is my all time favorite fanfic! I absolutely love Ember. Is she how you would put yourself in the book?

Hi there :) sorry for taking as long to update but that's just how things are at the moment.

In short; yes. Ember (in her original form) was the character I made for myself when I first read Inkheart when I was 10 years old. She's grown and adapted and evolved with me as I've grown up - and she's developed my usual 'dark backstory' that the majority of my characters end up with. I do love her very much, but, like all authors with their OCs, I make her suffer 3

Thanks again to everyone for the reviews and favourites, hopefully I'll be updating more frequently soon

x

Ember sat in the branches of a large tree, a few hundred metres from the front of Elinor's gate, craving a lump of wood she'd found into... something; she wasn't sure yet, at that minute she was just shaving off the rough edges while she pondered on things. Gwin was chattering at her occasionally - he'd came up to her earlier with some feathers stuck in his fur, and fluff around his snout, and Ember had cleared the little martin up again, having a brief moment's thought for whatever poor birds that made their nest within his reach.

Dustfinger was restless. With didn't surprise her. She watched him wandering about, picking up smooth stones and strong branches as he went. The branches would be strapped together and taken with them for firewood, and the stones, well, they were more picked up from habit. Ember used to collect smooth stones when she was young, and now both of them would search for them on occasion, and kept them in their pockets. These days they used them to hold down the edges of the canvas they used to spread over their bags to keep them dry, or to throw at animals that were unwelcome, or posed a threat to Gwin.

Dustfinger was uncomfortable. He'd been uncomfortable for a while. He didn't like the lying, he didn't like the thought of betrayal, he didn't like not knowing one hundred per cent, that this was going to work. He was anxious. He was nervous. Dustfinger was scared. And so was Ember. But she was trying not to let it show. It had been too long. It had been too hard, and too long, and too scary and too wrong and bad and all of it made her want to scream- but, but this... This might work. This might work. This might be it. This might be what she'd- what they'd been waiting for, for nearly a decade.

It was getting later. The breeze that was drifting from the lake was chilling both the fire dancers.

Ember had found herself, in years prior, near to tears, because in this world, she couldn't summon fire to her fingertips to warm her. On occasions, she still forgot that such things weren't available to her here. For Dustfinger, it felt like someone had chopped out something of him, a very part of his soul that had been with him all his life, that was now gone. Sometimes, selfishly, he envied Ember, for not having lived with the friendship of fire for as long as he had - because , he had thought once, that it couldn't hurt her as much as it had hurt him. He'd cried that day, for thinking like that. He couldn't let anything divide them, not even his own intrusive thoughts.

Ember started craving the wood in her hand into shape.

Dustfinger found himself biting his nails. Surely, it had to be soon. Surely, after all this time they would be able to go home soon. They could walk back, side by side, and go home and sit at the table and be surrounded by their family and life would continue as it had before. They could call upon the fire and it would greet them like a friend and welcome them back. They could perform in the market and for the Motley folk and Dustfinger could be with Roxanne and Ember could be with Mariatt and everything would be okay again.

Right?

Wouldn't it?

I had to... Hadn't it?

Ember climbed down and Dustfinger bundled Gwin into his rucksack. They walked back, through the wrought iron gates, into Elinor's manicured garden, and to the spot where they would perform that night. Ember was still carving as she walked, the little flakes of wood falling in her path. She had gotten good at wood carving, despite her general lack of interest in it - but it gave her something to do with her hands.

They stopped in the garden, by the bench. Dustfinger double checked that they had everything for their show. Ember put away her knife, and examined the carving in her hand. She stared at it, inspecting it, before handing it to Dustfinger to put away.

Dustfinger took it from her, looking it over briefly. The little wooden girl bore a startling resemblance to Meggie.

He put it in the bag. Ember tied back her hair.

Dustfinger took a steadying breath.

Ember had one clear thought;

Bring it on.