Hey everyone!!! I know it's been a while, so I thought I'd share a little update on me. I really hope to come back to SJ soon and start posting stories again, but right now I'm focusing on working on a few longer writing projects. That being said, I haven't written any short stories lately—though I might post a few I wrote last year, or continue some that I hadn't updated.

But for now...I have posted a novel on Wattpad, and I'm working on a couple of fanfiction projects on there! I just started sharing some of my work on there, so my account isn't that big yet. If you'd like to head there, I'd appreciate the support! (I'll share the link in the description/comments.)

So...I think that's pretty much it! I'd love to talk to you if you comment; it's been a while!

Though...since it's been a while since I've shared a story...I'll share an excerpt of a story I'm thinking about continuing. Enjoy! And God bless you! :)

                                The Tale of Sophya Pimental

“You’re too young.”

    The three small and simple, yet devastating words reached my ears…again. After several minutes of faux consideration, the same answer came again: No.

    The woman, Mrs. Falcon, tilted her head and pursed her lips.

    “And…rather small.”

    I almost glared at her, pulling my knapsack straps tighter. What did this woman know about poverty…and how hard I actually worked? The need to bring in every coin to be able to put food on the table? I eyed her extravagant home, complete with a fancy, well-maintained yard.

    I stood up straighter and looked her directly in the eye. Mother always said I had a knack for convincing people to do my bidding by the way I simply looked at them. So I fell back on this old trick again.

    “You weren’t asking for someone old and tall,” I said defiantly. Mrs. Falcon raised her eyebrows in surprise, but I ignored her obvious astonishment and continued. “You asked for someone who can work. And I can. So give me a chance.”

    Mrs. Falcon sniffed. “You say that you’re able to work?”

    “I’m a hard worker, ma’am,” I said, unwavering under this woman’s obvious expression of disapproval.

    “Shouldn’t that fall under your father’s job?” Mrs. Falcon asked, scrutinizing me. At least, it felt that way. “And you should be at home playing with dolls and learning home skills with your governor.”

    “My father’s dead,” I said simply. Matter-of-factly. Like those three words didn’t have any major importance. What was it with three simple words always having major importance? “And I don’t play with dolls,” I told her. “I play ball when I can. Occasionally. And I already learned all the home skills I need to know.”

    Mrs. Falcon looked me over again. “How old are you again?”

    “Eleven years old, ma’am,” I said. “Almost twelve.”

    I felt that this was asked to avoid an awkward gap in our conversation. She had already asked for my age, and I doubt she’d forget it so soon. She did have an uncomfortable look on her face, as if she felt she should pity me, but didn’t know how to express it. Which was fine. I hated being pitied.

Mrs. Falcon stood there quietly, and I shifted my weight to my other leg, getting tired from standing there so long. I glanced down at her doormat. All Are Welcome, it read. Clearly not me. I know when I’m welcome.

    I tried again. “You said you needed a few people to look after your home while you were away. Do you have pets? I’m good with animals. Or—”

    “No,” she said abruptly, shaking her head. “No pets. I…I detest animals.” She shuddered.

    I sighed. We weren’t getting anywhere. “What about children?” I tried to ask brightly, but my optimism was getting low. I looked over the railing at the backyard again. There wasn’t a swing…but there was a swimming pool. A real, built-in swimming pool.

    “I have a daughter,” she confirmed. “Just one. Her name is Elizabeth, but we all call her Beth. She’s about your age, actually—twelve.”

    “She sounds like a lovely person.” I smiled politely, though obviously I couldn’t have known that. Not just by going off her name and age. If anything, she could’ve been a spoiled brat; that was more likely than her being sweet, and…well…‘lovely.’

    “Perhaps she would like a companion,” I suggested. “Or a maid. Or…”

    I sighed again.

    “What are you looking for, Mrs. Falcon?” I asked almost wearily.

“I’m looking for dependable workers to place the care of my home in while I’m on a trip with my husband,” Mrs. Falcon said primly. “And I doubt that Beth needs a companion like you,” she added, not unkindly, but not sugar-sweet, either.

    I shifted on my feet again. I’ve already been standing here for fifteen minutes, and it still appeared that I was getting nowhere. “May I please come in?” I ventured to ask. “This conversation has been wonderful, but we’ve been standing here for quite a while, and—”

    “Of course,” Mrs. Falcon said immediately. “Where are my manners? Please, come in.” She widened the door so I could walk through the doorway. I stepped inside, and gasped at the beauty of the room. There was a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the white walls. The carpet beneath our feet was a rich green, and the chairs were a handsome brown.

    “This is lovely,” I breathed, taking it all in. Mrs. Falcon directed me into a chair for me to sit in, and I sat down.

    “Well, yes,” she said, taking the seat in front of me, “but this is only the sitting room.”

    I blinked, snapping out of my trance. “Oh. Right.”

    She nodded. “So, you said you’d be willing to help with anything.”

    “Of my ability, yes.”

    Mrs. Falcon examined me again. Knowing it’d be rude to stare directly into her