Writing the Hero

Published December 28, 2015 by RowanMeir Films

“He must put aside his pride, his virtue, beauty and life and bow or submit to the absolutely intolerable.”

Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces

Perhaps it is because I grew up relishing in the fairytales of knights, warriors, wizards, gods and demigods, that I live for the triumph of the hero, the anti-hero, and the villain-turned-good. It is a tale I never tire from, for the road for the worthy is often laid out with horrors and beauty, trials and tribulation, a hint of mystery, a breath of discovery, and yes, even a little bit of love rolled into the mix of the powerful and the strong on the road to what they ultimately can and do become.

Whether the hero is quick-witted or dimwitted, suave or brash, the story lies in the web of adventure that drives me to turn page after page, yearning for my time where I can lose myself in the journey of passion, memory and loss. And as I sit here writing the continued tale of my Legacy, I continue to ponder the elements that make up the hero that I am imagining…and, more importantly, is there only one?

Only time will tell as I edit and re-edit my raven, my prince, and my queen. What will drive them to madness or onto the road of peace? What will haunt them into the cloak of sorrow or stir up their will to rise from the grave and claim their desire to shout over the darkness and shine a new light? What will surround them on their way—the shadow that beckons for them to remain unchanged and unmoved, or the fire that ignites their hearts to change the unchangeable?

Written by: #CorinaMarie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)

Nobility: Book II in The Legacy Trilogy. Coming soon…

2011-03-20 08.41.39

“Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be beaten.”

– G.K. Chesteron

#Fantasy #Fiction #Legacy #G.K.Chesterton #HeroWithAThousandFaces #JosephCampbell

Writing My Legacy: Book I

Published June 8, 2014 by RowanMeir Films

“You are not going out this day, nor any other day that strips away what you have yet to do. You have not fixed it. You have not done what it was you were born to do. I’m not going to do it for you. I’m not going to lift your banner for you to see it through. You’re the one, you’re the one who’s going to have to do it. You’re going to have to fight through this blow in order to shine on.” – The Wolf King

(Excerpt from Legacy © Copyright 2014 NeverMore Publications, LLC)

Rebekah and Reginald

Rebekah and Reginald

When I first began writing the screenplay to Legacy, I was in a place in life where nothing was really happening–all the humdrum of the hours was nothing but that…a hum. And what I needed was the loud beat of the drum, pounding its way into my soul, summoning the call of the soldier within to march to a different tune than the hum I was repeating from the sunrise of the days before. I had to ask myself, Why is it that I feel this way and what is it that I was ultimately after, for the answer to that alone would be the key to my unsung door. What I wanted was to be in a different place in life where I did not have to struggle so hard to live the life I had chosen for myself–that of a creator–an actor, a writer, a dreamer.

The Mariner Princess and Shark Warriors

The Mariner Princess and Shark Warriors

So I pondered my existence at that moment, remembering the day when I veered down another path than the one I was on, asking myself, what do I want out of this, and why do I feel the need to do it? Well, for one, I have to do it; there is no surer answer. And yet, I wanted to live a life better than the one I was living. I wanted to dream a bigger dream where those that came after me–my friends, nephews, nieces, godchildren, children and grandchildren–would know without a shadow of a doubt that dreams were possible…and that they could thrive, that they could grow, and that they could be lived upon. And out of that moment where I looked ahead to all the goals I had set in place for myself and all my bloodline after me (if they wanted it), I had forgotten a very simple thing: it is who you are and how you lived that is remembered best. Not the money and success you leave behind. That may encourage someone with a similar dream, but how you live and what you stand for is what truly inspires. And it was off that reminder that the story to Legacy came to life.

"Remember...remember..." - Chief Netapheha

“Remember…remember…” – Chief Netapheha

I think I wrote the outline to the screenplay in a single sitting, pouring over the pain of the moments where I have felt myself standing still, marking the barriers that stood in my way, wondering where it was I was meant to go, and knowing that when I got there I might not be equipped for the moment I alone have imagined. Weaving it into an epic fairytale, I found myself lost in the inspired worlds of my childhood–Neverending Story, Star Wars, Legend, Krull, Harry Potter, The Wizard of Oz, Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia–all over again. What I came up with ultimately broke my heart and put it back together again. I had no intention whatsoever of turning it into a book, but like all things…you should always be open-minded. You never know what door is the one that is meant to be opened. And this one opened like a flood.

“To never have what you thought you wanted, to never be what you dreamed you could be, to give everything you had and get nothing in return…it is a choice you have to make, young lion. Do you engage?”
Marcus stood and looked up at the eagle captain towering over him.
“You may fail, prince…but the better question to ask is…what if you win?”

(Excerpt from Legacy; Property of NeverMore Publications, LLC)

May you enjoy the passion of my heart…my Legacy

Written by: #CorinaMarie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)

Illustrations by Scott Edward

Illustrations by Scott Edward



(Actress, Writer, Producer)


Jurassic World [Blu-ray]

Dashing Through the Snow: A Christmas Novel

Remembering Rod…

Published April 17, 2014 by RowanMeir Films

“We come. We go. And in between we try to understand.” – Rod Steiger

Rod Steiger

I remember the day my agent called me and said, “You have an audition at 11:30. You’re reading for a lead role opposite Rod Steiger!” Pause. “You know who Rod Steiger is, don’t you?” “Of course I know who Rod Steiger is!” (I had absolutely no idea who he was.) “Good. You’re reading for the part to play his granddaughter Biddy.” I had three hours until the audition. Driving up to L.A. in my clunker of a car, I memorized the lines as fast as my brain cells could possibly absorb, formulating a cognitive pathway that I could travel upon in which I hoped to retrieve them later on in the day. I was to read for a feisty tomboy (that explains the character name) who runs away with her grandfather to find his long lost son. I walked into the audition room wearing jeans, a baseball t-shirt, and sneakers as I attempted to immerse myself in the role I had about an hour to prepare. The read went well, and by the time I got a callback, I had already begun my research on Mr. Rod Steiger. As I read through his IMDB page, I quickly understood the enthusiasm in my agent’s voice. Rod Steiger was not just an actor worthy of a boisterous announcement followed by a pause, he was an actor to be admired and respected. He was an actor’s actor, and he was larger than life. As I scrolled through his endless list of credits, I realized why his name did not register the morning I received the call. I had seen most of his films, yet I did not recognize him from one film to the next. He was a chameleon. A master of disguise as he created his iconic characters in each and every role he portrayed onscreen: On the Waterfront, Oklahoma, In the Heat of the Night, The Illustrated Man, Doctor Zhivago, Mars Attacks, The Pawnbroker, The Hurricane…the list went on and on. I sat back in my chair staring at the screen on my computer monitor, thinking only one thing: I want this part. I want to work with this master of the screen. So I went out and got as many movies of Rod’s that I could find…and I watched them all.


After several reads, and a few months later, I got the call. I had booked the part. I called around to all my friends in utter excitement, “I’m playing Rod Steiger’s granddaughter!!!” Pause. “Don’t you know who Rod Steiger is?!?!” “No, I don’t. But congratulations!!!” The irony of such a moment. The first time I met Rod was the first day he was called to set. You could feel the vibration in the air. You could sense the anticipation flowing from one trailer to the next as the crew prepared for his arrival, for the legend was coming… I was heading back to my trailer to change wardrobe for another scene when an elderly man in a golf court came barreling toward me. There was a rule on set about that golf cart. No one but the P.A. was allowed to drive it–at least, that was what was told to me. The cart stopped right in front of me, breaking hard, and the man behind the wheel shouted like a roaring lion, “So you’re my costar!” I looked at him and saw the faintest smirk forming on his lips as he looked at me through his thick-rimmed glasses. His eyes twinkled in mischief as I replied, “Actually, it’s the other way around.” That did it… He grinned at me from ear to ear and let out a loud, “Ha!” Then he winked at me, put the golf cart in reverse and said, “You’re in for it now!” He sped away, rolling over the curb with the P.A. seated helplessly in the passenger seat. Watching him drive away across the set, taking control of his environment, I liked him immediately and knew we would get along magnificently. And we did. Rod Steiger is one of the most generous actors I have ever had the privilege and blessing to know. At the time I met him, he was almost eighty years old. He had lived and breathed the Actor’s Studio, performed in televised plays that are still revered (Marty), starred opposite the most famous actors in Hollywood (Marlon Brando, Sidney Poitier, Julie Christie, Arnold Schwarzeneger, Denzel Washington), and he was still gong strong. He loved acting. He was on fire about it, passionate about doing not just good work but GREAT work. And he was hard on himself if he missed or forgot his line (which, to my recollection, was never!), apologizing if it threw me off as we worked off of one another throughout all of our scenes, running lines between them, swapping scripts to see what each other had written and discovered in our notes marking our subtext.

A Month of Sundays

There was one night in particular, one night that I will never forget so long as I live, that even now overwhelms and humbles me as I write it. We had put in a fourteen hour day, and my close-ups were the last to be filmed that night. We had already shot Rod’s, and as the camera was being turned around for mine, Rod had been wrapped for the night. It was a night shoot, and it was also really cold out. Rod had told me that over the years he had two hip replacement surgeries and heart surgery.  He also had hearing aids in both his ears.  He had put in a really long day and there was no reason to have Rod stay…but he did. He refused to go home. He turned to me and said, “You’re my costar. I’m staying right here to give you everything you need for your performance, as you just did for mine.” If the cold and long night weren’t bad enough, it had started to rain. But he still refused to go. A crew member had given Rod a tarp and was holding it over his head as he read his lines opposite mine. I will never forget it, seeing him standing there in the pouring rain, giving his all to a young, unknown actress in a tiny independent film. Rod Steiger stood in the rain…for me. Even now, I cannot help but miss him. He was a champion in my corner, encouraging me to take bigger risks, challenging me to listen better, and in so doing, he made me a better actor. He had set the bar for me—on how to treat your fellow actor, on how to fight for your character if you truly believed there was a better way, a better choice, a better word to convey a deeper understanding of the written word–when to stand up, when to lie down…and then do what you want anyway and get away with it. Rod was a master of improvisation. Every take, every line, he would do something new. One take he would be laughing, the next crying…I never knew what he was going to do next. He made it real. On the last day on set he said to me, “Don’t make the same mistake I did. After I won the Oscar, I waited for my next opportunity, thinking it would come. It was four years later when it finally did. Create your opportunity.” My kindred spirit.


  Why I’m thinking of him on this day or at this moment, I really couldn’t say. Perhaps it’s because of where I am in life at this moment, thinking of all the places I’ve gone and all the places I long to be going, knowing that I am following his advice, with or without really knowing it. All I know is that I am thinking of him, grateful to have known him, inspired to speak about him, and feeling inspired to share him with others too. Here’s to you, Rod.


– Written by: #Corina Marie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)

A Month of Sundays

That Childlike Fearlessness…

Published February 2, 2014 by RowanMeir Films

Over the last few years, I’ve watched my nieces (and now my nephews) explore the world around them, as if every object , every person, every color and shadow were a universe all its own. That childlike wonderment has always given me pause, for behind it there is a sense of discovery and exploration unrivaled in the life of the adult due to one small thing…there is no pause in the curiosity. There is only the leap—hands outstretched to grab hold of every bit of life that rests before their eyes, moments without fear as every detail is studied as if it were the rarest flower or the final sunrise. Looking at the young ones, I have often envied them from time to time—their life without fear.

To watch a child learn to walk—to stumble and fall—only to get back up again and keep moving forward, is a constant reminder that that is the only way to truly live. There is no stopping their life force from rising up like the dawn and moving forward as if there were no roadblock, no tiresome day that drains the energy of scarce free moments at night. Always moving, always discovering, always tackling.

That age of innocence and youth was what I was after when writing Hailey. And I found myself being inspired by the will of the young I once shared to face fears head-on, to leap and not be afraid to fall, only to get up again and move forward to see what else lay ahead. That is the Hailey I imagine. The fearless one. The risk taker. The child I used to see in that reflection of glass, and now see in every child outside the mirror. And it is I, who have found the means to sit in childlike wonderment. Not because of the sense of discovery and exploration of the children I see before me, but for the rediscovery of the fierce female child I once knew myself to be—the one Scott has drawn Hailey to be—and allowed me to rediscover. The fearless lion and lioness in all of us that has the courage to face the storm. To be the one who keeps going when there is no reason in sight. May Hailey’s courage reawaken the fearlessness in you, as she has within me.

-Written by: #Corina Marie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)

From the mind of Scott Edward

From the mind of Scott Edward

The children’s comic book Hailey the Courageous is coming soon!

“Face your fears head on.”


Why Do We Do It?

Published November 5, 2013 by RowanMeir Films

Have you ever had that feeling when you first start a project, that feeling of excitement and knowingness and confidence that what you are about to create is the most magnificent representation of your passion at that particular moment in time…and then, after feverishly working on that project day after day, month after month, you somehow…lose that momentum? And then comes the inevitable questions of despair as you try to gain it back, Why am I doing this? Who cares? What’s the point?

I’ve felt that way whenever I’ve embarked on an adventure of creativity in any one of its various forms, and have often found that the questions come when I am almost done. When the project is just about to come to fruition–that is when I feel most discouraged, where that particular energy and excitement are just embers of what was once a roaring fire. “Battle fatigue,” if I were to pick a term. But then somehow, no matter how irritated I get with my own pitiful emotions, trying to kick my own a%$@ to keep going, somehow the answers to those horrid questions find their own way to trump any doubt that any time has been wasted: I’m doing this because I have to. I can’t help but do it. I care. And even if I am the only one that does, that’s what’s most important, for I alone am the keeper of my vision. Only I understand the purpose behind which I have embarked. And if I don’t see it through, no one will. And the point? The point is to do it. To finish what you started. To put something out into the world and brand it with the passion of your heart, the journey of your soul, the fury and woe of your mortal fiber regardless of whether or not it’s appreciated or understood. No other reason than it must be done. And if you didn’t do it…well, then it would be wasting time. It would be living a half life rather than to live, simply because my kind of life is one where I cannot help but want to attempt the impossible, to do what others say cannot be done or has never been tried before. And to do it without having any idea of how it can be, yet to do it all the same.

I write this the day my second book, The Father of Lights, is done. It is the novelization of the screenplay to a trilogy I wrote, and I have wondered from time to time why I was doing it. I have wondered what was the point. I have doubted the purpose behind it, and yet somehow, I kept going. And I am glad I did because now, I want to go further. I want to do more. And it’s strange to know that not so long ago, I wondered why it is I bothered.  But I’m so glad I did. And I want anyone who is reading this, that has felt the same or is feeling that way now…to keep going. Bother. Finish the lap. Go one more round. Throw another punch. Let your fire burn for all to see, for there is nothing like creating something that defines you at your moment…and to know you were the one who gave it its definition. And I’m not just talking about writing. I’m talking about everything: the journey of life. Following your dream. Living your passion. For at the end of it all, it’s your life and what you did with it in the time you had to live it.

So why do we do it? Why do we dream, create, thrive…and why do we even want to? Because we are meant to live. And it is the dreams of the heart, the stirrings in the soul yearning to truly live that makes us feel alive to want to be and truly do. At least is for me…

The Father of Lights (I suppose my thoughts influenced this scene a bit. Enjoy.)

Gabriel! You’re a fool!”
Why? Because I’m willing to take a risk? Putting myself out there to see what the realm holds for me? It’s mine to take. It has nothing to do with you if I fall on my face. It doesn’t matter if anyone believes in me and if I’m capable of doing this. If I’m good enough to do it, I will!” Her eyes are filled with utter fury, “I told you I was going to enter! And now it’s the last fight. The army has been formed! All because one angel stood in my way!”
“Listen to me, Gabriel!”
“I want to fight! Even if I fail!”
Lucifer has never seen her like this before. Instead of embarrassment and shame, her passion overwhelms him, for he has never known before this moment how deep her passion lies. “You are meant for more than fighting, Gabriel. You are a Seraph! You are part of the chain that trickles the knowledge of God down to the remainder of the hierarchy. That is the highest rank in all of heaven, Gabriel! Fighting is beneath you. It is base!”
Gabriel steps to him and looks him dead in the eye. “Then why did you fight Michael?”
Lucifer does not answer her.
“You said it was because you wanted to test your limits. Highest rank or not, there is more for me to do and I know it! I don’t need you to know it! It is up to me alone to believe it and prove it!”

“I don’t want you to fight.”
“It’s not up to you!”
They hear cheers from the crowd chanting Beelzebub’s name. The fight is over. Disappointment falls all over Gabriel’s face. She collapses against a bench, all color drains from her face. “No…”
Lucifer cannot bear to see Gabriel hurt, but this look on her face is one he cannot bear even more. He looks down at her. “Yes, it is. Stand up.”
“Get up!”
He quickly takes her hand and pulls her past the canopy and toward the field. Michael is congratulating Beelzebub in the center of the arena. Michael helps Gokor up as the crowd continues to cheer the arrival of the heaven’s second-in-command. Lucifer turns Gabriel around, tightening the leather strap to her belt and adjusting her sheaths.
“You’re going to have to fight Beelzebub.”
She pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “I know.”
“You don’t have to beat him. Just give him a very good fight with every ounce of your being and you’ll be in the army.” He turns her around so that they are face to face. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Do you understand
“I won’t.”
Lucifer nods. He pulls his own sword from his sheath and gives it to her; on its hilt is an engraving of a pentagram. “Here. It’s better than yours. It’s made of adamantine.” Lucifer examines her. “You’re ready. Stay here.”

Written by: #CorinaMarie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)


(Now available on Amazon and Kindle)

The Battle of Heaven

Published August 15, 2013 by RowanMeir Films

You are my war club, my weapon for battle–with you I shatter horse and rider, with you I shatter chariot and driver. So will the rebellious ones sink to rise no more because of the disaster you will bring upon them. And these angels…will…fall. Michael rises, and behind the powerful archangel stand a mighty legion of warrior angels. Their eyes are afire, fueled by the flame of fury at the sight of Lucifer‘s rebel army rising up over the battlefield.

(Excerpt from The Father of Lights © Copyright 2013. Property of NeverMore Publications, LLC.)

The Morning Star - Artwork by Stefan Gutierrez. Property of RowanMeir Films.

The Morning Star – Artwork by Stefan Gutierrez. Property of RowanMeir Films.

The great irony in writing Archangels: Book I was that I was attempting to utilize many of the scenes written in the screenplay version–the most epic of which was the Battle of Heaven. After attempting various perspectives, subtext, narratives and the like, I finally came to the conclusion: it simply didn’t work. And of course, I chucked the whole adaptation of that one particular scene. Oh, how it haunted me as I entertained such various attempts to dismantle this roadblock and weave something fine, coming to it again and again. Until one day, a most outlandish thought crept into my mind, “Take it out.”

“But I can’t!” I said. “This scene is most beloved in my eyes, it HAS to be in there!”

“Take it out.”

And take it out I did. Once removed, the story worked and the book was done. BAM. Just like that. But now, as I come to Book II: The Father of Lights, the horror of former days haunts me once again as the realization of what is needed comes taunting me, “Put it back in.”

“But if I put it back into Book II, I’m still in the same boat as I was before…”

“Put it back in.”

And so I have.  For you see, The Father of Lights is more of a prequel than a sequel as it explores the idea and asks the question: who were the angels before the fallen ones...fell? Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Beelzebub, Lucifer. They were all together once, shrouded in God‘s light. What were they like before shadow crept into the hearts of the immortal beings? What led many into darkness? And what kept most in the light? There is no answer to such an inquiry, only clues to incorporate the nature of angels from the Old Testament and the New:

Revelation 12:9 – And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.

Mentions of the legend of the Nephilim that bore the Philistine giants:

Genesis 6:1-22 – And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them…

A glimpse into the great war in heaven:

Revelation 12:7-9 – And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels…

Tidbits of angels and their roles in such apocryphal books such as the Book of Jubilees:

And He said to the angel of the presence: Write for Moses from the beginning of creation till My sanctuary has been built among them for all eternity. (1:26)

What to discard? What to imagine? What to build upon? The book is nearly done–all except…that one particular scene. Odd how the beauty of the screenplay stumps me in the literary voice as I try to weave the virtues and the vices in the hearts of these angels. And with all the research done before for the screenplay, there is still so much more one can do in the book. The more one can do, the less of an excuse one can find in doing what couldn’t be done before–fix the Battle of Heaven scene. Oh, the irony indeed, for you see…

Artwork by Stefan Gutierrez. Property of RowanMeir Films.

Artwork by Stefan Gutierrez. Property of RowanMeir Films.

…it’s my favorite scene, and it shouldn’t be this hard.

Michael yells to the rebellious angels with of a voice of thunder,  “Bringer of the Seven! You come against us with sword, spear and javelin, but we come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the true armies of heaven, whom you have defied! At the end of this war, the Lord will place you in my power, Lucifer, and you will be struck down. All of heaven will know that there is only one God; for the battle is the Father’s, and He will give you and your army into our hands!”

 Lucifer gives Beelzebub his final command, “Let not the archer string his bow. Do not spare a single angel. Completely destroy their army.”

(Excerpt from The Father of Lights © Copyright 2013. Property of NeverMore Publications, LLC)

Written by: #CorinaMarie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)

(Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble)

(Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble)



Writing Book II: The Father of Lights

Published July 19, 2013 by RowanMeir Films

I’m not sure exactly when the love of fantasy and myth captured my heart and lassoed my imagination, but I am sure it was around four or five. My dad always seemed to be watching either an old Western, a war film or anything Ray Harryhausen. Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger, Clash of the Titans, Jason and the Argonautsgargoyles, cyclops, three-headed hounds and baboonsthey all entertained me throughout my childhood. And I will still watch films like Excalibur, Krull, Star Wars and Neverending Story to this day because of their awesomeness and my fateful nostalgia. I remember looking forward to the moment when my dad would turn on the “tube” or popped in a VHS tape as I entered the domain of impossible worlds and fantastical creatures. And for those of you not born in the 80’s, that means “video…home…system”…ahem.

Working on the second book in the Archangels Trilogy, I cannot help but think of the movies I grew up on and attempt to bring that same kind of wonderment into the unseen world of angels and demons. The conflict of the bad guys, the struggle of the good guys, and on and on it goes.

Image (Concept Art: Scott Edward)

Here’s an excerpt to Book II: The Father of Lights © 2013. Coming soon…

“Father…why have you forsaken me?”

   Ash gently falls from the gray, smoke-filled sky. The colorless flakes swirl and dance all throughout the ebony domain, landing softly and gently on his scale-ridden face. He doesn’t even notice the brimstone powder as it collects on his deformed, reptilian visage. Like a magnet, his one reptilian eye and one cerulean eye are locked onto the malevolent waves of the Lake of Fire before him, watching as they rise and fall. Up and down…up and down. And with each roll of magma, the whispers of his fallen brothers summon him; brothers whose existence ended the moment the lake opened its mouth to receive them in, swallowing them whole as they were hurled down from heaven by God’s mighty hand.

   He hears their last words, words spoken in a patterned framework like that of iambic pentameter—rhythmically, knowingly—they utter a single name. And the closer he listens, the more he understands the tone as the name is spoken. It is a name that was once heralded across the seven realms of heaven with the undertone of power and conviction. A name that no longer holds the same meaning it once held when it was sounded in the light. And as the whispers rise and fall, they continue their moaning as they speak, “Lucifer…Lucifer...”

   He winces slightly as if the sound of his own angelic name wounds him with every consonant, every vowel, as the beat of its echo thumps across his memory, pounding against his blackened heart. And even in the thrumming of his mind, he hears her voice, clear, strong and utterly right in all its utterance thundering over the beat, “You should have listened to me. If you had, you would have never come to this place…”

   This place.

  The prince of hell stares at the malevolent waves, unable to tear his eyes away from the rolling lava that pours forth the memories of yesterday, a millennia ago, and the moment just past. He plays them over and over in his mind.

   “You miss Him, don’t you? You miss heaven, God, the light.”

   He tries to shut his eyes, but wide they remain, as he sways with the rhythm of the waves, his tail slithering within its coil. The rhythm. The beat. He feels the angst and the yearning rising, rising like the smallest of seeds that fights to rise up from beneath, grasping for the sunlight. A seed amongst the thorns.

   “I sometimes miss…the light. But what I miss most…is the music, the music, the music…you know I do.”

   The melody. The song. The voice of his true heart.


   Hearing their mournful chant of stricken grief, he is locked in a place in time where the shout of his name once brought him joy, for the sound of it thundered throughout the heavens—a cacophony of echoes rumbling across the realms of the seven skies. The whispered melody brings on the memories of the past, and he remembers it; standing on the throne to the kingdom of heaven, the entire Angelic Host calling his name over and over again.

   Moving to the melody of whispered tongues, speaking the old language with voices he has long forgotten, he remembers how his name once sounded—triumphant, supreme—the chant of a victor. But the whispers he hears now all throughout perdition are the cry of a victim, invoking vengeance, justice, wrath upon the one whose name they speak, “Lucifer…Lucifer…”

   He cannot tear his eyes away from the phantoms in the waves, for the desire of his fallen brothers is strong. “Destroy. Pay. Amend. Avenge…me.”

   No matter how long he stares at the rolling magma, he cannot will himself to turn away from their curses—especially after what the witch had told him.

   These waves. This place. This lake. My destiny.


   Satan lifts his horned head to the ashen sky of the inferno, but instead of darkness, he sees the light. Heaven. A small sigh escapes his blackened mouth as he thinks on his long forgotten home. He sees its incomparable beauty across all space and time—its own quantum dimension; the ever-changing sky of his home as the color of its canvas dissolves from blue to violet to green as the heavens moved across and within each other, rolling over one another like the waves before him now.


   Gone are the blackened mountains replaced by ivory cliffs of the second realm. Gone are the cries of human souls wailing throughout his brimstone kingdom. And as he longingly searches for the memory of his paradise lost, he hears it, the softest of sounds. His breath catches as he clings to the faint echo of melody. He clutches the memory, grasping for it, focusing all his will onto it so that it cannot escape him like all the times before. The rhythm. The beat. Satan’s horns bend to the sound of fire, frantically listening for the harmony that plucks at his heart—and then it is there. First softly, then gradually the pulse of its sound rises. Like the dawn. Like that of the Morning Star…

   The drumbeat. The rhythm.

   A cold wind suddenly swirls all around him, viciously swiping at him, cutting off his thought. It lashes out at him, whipping the words down upon him, “Not worthy anymore…”  

Written by: #CorinaMarie

(Corina Marie is an actress, producer and screenwriter.)

(Property of NeverMore Publications, LLC. © Copyright 2013)

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