Wrote 4.2K words today, can't write anymore. So much for the goal of 7K words. I have to slow down now and think more, so it's going slower. Here is an excerpt for your reading (or barfing) pleasure.
CORNERS. Draft 1. Chapter 18. The Chicken People.
They dropped on the floor of a dark room. Ahead of them, a child in a sleeping gown walked after a black chicken. Its eyes shone like two little candles, showing the way. Bells first, Peacock after her, then Rusty and Grand, followed them down the corridor and into a room where two old ladies slept in two white beds and next to them sat a parrot in a cage and a grey cat. They heard the boy—it was most definitely a boy about nine or ten—ask the cat for its paw and the cat screeched and the parrot cried, “You fool!” and the boy and the chicken rushed out of the room and down the steps into a labyrinth of twisted narrow corridors.
“You woke them up, Alyosha!” Berated the chicken the boy.
The boy answered something.
“The chicken can talk?” Said Rusty.
“Shhh.” Bells put a finger to her lips. “Yes. It can talk. Be quiet or they’ll hear us.”
“Cool.” Rusty couldn’t help himself.
The black chicken stopped and peered back.
Bells pressed to the wall. The boys did the same.
The chicken and the boy continued walking.
“Where exactly did you take us this time?” Whispered Peacock.
“To Saint Petersburg.” Said Bells. “Can you shut up now? I will explain later.”
“Gee.” Scoffed Peacock, but not in a mean way, more out of habit. “Bossy today.”
“When isn’t she?” Offered Grand, and Peacock smiled.
Bells waved at them to stop talking.
They stopped in a round hall lit with candle chandeliers. The chicken and the boy reached the door guarded by two knights in armor who suddenly sprung off the walls and charged at the chicken. The chicken grew huge and flapped its wings and clucked and clacked and pecked at them, ripping their armor apart.
The boy threw his hands to cover his face, whimpered, and dropped to the floor, most likely unconscious.
The chicken defeated the knights, picked up the boy and vanished with him as if it sunk through the floor.
“Now.” Said Bells.
She marched up to the door, opened it and beckoned for everyone to get inside. They stepped into another hall, long and opulent, with a ceiling so low, it almost touched their heads. Countless candles stuck in golden candelabras threw a golden glow on the checkered marble floor. At the head of the hall, under a green velvet canopy, stood a throne that was fit for a king. A toy king, perhaps, or a doll king, because everything here was doll-size.