Word of the Day prompts (Day 55)

Re-posting here for the differing time zone crowd:

Hey all! It's your friendly neighborhood old person here with only the freshest of ideas: vocabulary writing prompts! In this exercise, I will post a new word everyday, along with it's definition, and a short, original vignette showing off the word in context. I invite anyone and everyone to also write a short sample of your work utilizing the word of the day so that we can all stretch our writing muscles and learn fresh new words, as well as how to use them properly in context.

Sound good? Good!

The first word of the day is: miasma

A miasma (plural: miasmata), which is a noun, is defined as "a highly unpleasant or unhealthy smell or vapor" or "an oppressive or unpleasant atmosphere that surrounds or emanates from something".

Conarith almost fainted when she left her house that sweltering, summer day. It was only seven in the morning and it was already hot enough to cook an egg on the ground. Normally, that would not have been a problem for the witch of the forest; she was used to the heat. But what she was not used to was the thick miasma of hot garbage that wafted through the early air. The stench was so oppressive that Conarith could hardly breath, so she immediately escaped to the cleaner air of her home.

Such was life living down wind from the city dump.

Connor stomped into the room, attempting to leave Alex behind. He closed the door and inhaled deeply before gagging and taking a step back. What the hell is that, he thought to himself.
He gingerly approached the majestic desk in the middle of the room, hand over his nose to block out the overpowering miasma that lay heavily in the room. He circled the piece of furniture and glanced behind it.
What he saw brought tears to his eyes, and in a frenzy, he stumbled out of the room.
(I love this idea!)

Very good⭐️ I was definitely a little tense reading that, A+!

Ok, so day 1 is (pretty much) complete. Moving on to the next word!

Today's word of the day is: eclectic

Eclectic, which is an adjective, is defined as "deriving ideas, style, or taste from a broad and diverse range of sources." It can also be used as a noun for "a person who derives ideas, style, or taste from a broad and diverse range of sources."

Warning: alcohol abuse

Conarith was feeling low. She needed a fix. The children had just experienced a difficult point in their lives, and their mother was too frazzled to be able to help them.

Conarith slipped past the solemn faces of her daughters and down to the wine cellar. Thanks to her husband's eclectic taste in drink, finding the poison that would take her pain away was a simple task. She focused on one bottle in particular. The glass was in the shape of a rose and the drink was pastel pink. Conarith ripped off the cork and took a whiff of the bottle's contents; a small smile graced her lips at the pleasant aroma.

Not even bothering to find a glass, Conarith raised the lip of the bottle to her own and tilted her head back.

(I hope I don't get annoying if I answer everyday)
Alicia edged through the bazaar, the gem held tight in her hand. The eclectic spreads of merchandise in the market dazzled her eyes: the brightness of the colours, the enchanting aromas, the vivid sounds ringing through the narrow streets… it wasn't like anything she'd known before. And it was wonderful.

No not at all! I'm glad that this is helping someone, even if only one person.

And good job with the word, you're pretty good at this!

Thank you! My dad is encouraging me to do more vocabulary exercises, and this is a really nice way to do it. Thank you for starting this XD

Today's word of the day is: antithesis

Antithesis, which is a noun, is defined as "a person or thing that is the direct opposite of someone or something else" or "a contrast or opposition between two things".

Conarith shook her head and sighed at the sight of her little Lyra covered nearly head to toe in chocolate mix.

"I swear to the Divine, you are truly the antithesis of good sense," she scolded.

But when her daughter smiled her usual goofy grin, showing off her chocolate-covered teeth, Conarith could not help but to laugh.

Charlotte stared at Leila, sword gripped tight and her stare vicious as ever.
"I didn't want to believe them, you know. I defended you. Even when your minion killed Alex, I defended you." Charlotte saw the slightest tremor of guilt flash across Leila's face. "But you've convinced me now. You truly are the antithesis of all things good. Of all things pure." She took a step forward, weapon raised. Understanding sunk into Leila's expression.
"Lottie, no," she pleaded, desperation in her eyes.
"Lei, I'm sorry." Charlotte continued forward without showing the slightest sign of hesitation. Leila took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry." Her minion appeared in the doorway. It approached. Charlotte has stopped moving in the wake of her confusion. The minion snuck up behind Charlotte, and stabbed her in the back.

Good job as always ⭐️

This time I'm gonna be a little early.

Today's word of the day is: preternatural

Preternatural, which is an adjective, is defined as something (or someone) that is "beyond what is normal or natural".

Conarith diligently bandaged Lyra as she always did after her daughter got into an accident. The child was two times too reckless, but Lyra never shied away from adventure, no matter how many times Conarith warned her not to run off into the forest too fast, or climb a tree too tall, or jump from the roof. The witch was at her wits' end, but there was not much that she could do to deter her overly daring daughter. And of course, it did not help that Lyra had the preternatural ability to heal from a wound in hours that would normally take days, so the sneaky girl knew that she could take more punishment than the average child.

Conarith sighed as she watched her little rapscallion take off like a bolt of lightning the very second that her wounds were dressed.

"Be more careful this time!", she called after her, but Lyra was already out the door, ready to scruff up her knees and possibly even break a bone.

Rachel sashayed into the room, a derisive grin on her face. "Alright, guys. I have a set list for sectionals, so gather 'round!"
She strode up and onto the stage and brandished the paper. Immediately the room fell quiet; her preternatural leading skills always took over whenever she had an announcement. It was as if everyone else was programmed to listen to her and only her.
"First up, Don't Stop Believing by Journey."

Today's word of the day is: laud

Laud, which is a verb, is defined as to "praise (a person or their achievements) highly, especially in a public context". It can also be used as a noun as a synonym for "praise".

Warning for mentions of abuse

Conarith's ex-husband was lauded as a genius and a true visionary by his people for his inventions and discoveries, and he admittedly earned every drop of praise. How could anyone believe that such a man was capable of emotionally, physically, and sexually abusing his own wife?

Will stared down at the paper. This was more than he'd ever hoped for. John Parry, the lauded explorer, was his father. He met Lyra's gaze with a grin. She raised an eyebrow and Pantalaimon popped up from behind her.
"What is it?" she asked him somewhat sharply.
"I know who my father is."

Running through the damp tunnels and caving roads, Dara repressed a chuckle. It was all so ironic. Here she was, getting kidnapped –or, rather, kidnapped to avoid being kidnapped– because she'd made a scientific breakthrough. She was ahead of her time. A brilliant mind. A modern-day Darwin. But instead of being lauded for her research, she was… "Running," she muttered, absolutely bitter. "And not a damn thing chasing me either."

(Hello fellow Hamilfan)

(Write day and night like you're running out of time! Lol I love Hamilton!)

(Everyday you fight like you're running out of time. Yeap it's incredible)

Yay, another student! Welcome. Class is in session, so no passing notes, please 😋

Today's word of the day is: accentuate

Accentuate, which is a verb, is defined as to "make more noticeable or prominent".

Bokoba nervously gazed at her reflection. It had been less than two years since she last saw the father of her daughter, but it felt like an eternity ago. She had never been so surprised to find his letter in the mail. Whatever a woman could feel about being contacted by the man who knocked her up at 16 and then abandoned her, she felt it. She was hurt. She was angry. She was confused. But most of all, she was relieved. Maybe it was silly of her to feel that way, but she genuinely loved that stable boy from the dusty canyon by the desert.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, all decked out in her new dress that accentuated the curves that she had grown into since she last saw the father of her child, Bokoba wondered if this was worth it. After all, that stable boy, for all his backwater charm and disarmingly crooked smile, had wounded her deeply.

But when Bokoba gazed into the face of her sleeping child, she realized that it was no longer about her. It was no longer about her hurt, or her pain, or even that stable boy that she may or may not still love.

It was all about Nababa, and Bokoba could not let her feelings, or her mother's for that matter, get in the way.

The sun was setting. The only clarity came from the flickering firelight. Alexander looked over at him and smiled softly. Laurens was gazing into the fire, a look of peace on his face. The dim light accentuated his defined features, casting shadows across his cheek and beneath his jaw. Sensing the stare, he turned around. Alexander reached for his hand and Laurens gave it to him. They scooted closer to each other and both looked back into the fire.

Today's word of the day is: maudlin

Maudlin, which is an adjective, is defined as "self-pityingly or tearfully sentimental, often through drunkenness".

Zela sighed as she allowed Conarith to sob on her shoulder. She had just come home for a quick visit, and here she was comforting her weepy and more than likely drunk mother.

"There, there," Zela cooed as she rubbed Conarith's back, "I'm sure Lyra did not mean to hurt your feelings when she said that the roast was dry."

She immediately regretted saying that, for now Zela had to deal with her mother's addled and maudlin recount of the offending incident in question.

Lillian pursed her lips. Nathan stumbled in, reeking of beer.
"What did you do, Nate?" she sighed. She approached him carefully and propped him up against the high-backed sofa.
He gave her a blurry look and started in a maudlin voice. "It's all my fault, Lili, I abandoned them and now they're trapped and I can't go back to help them, and I'm a terrible Mentor and now I can't believe I would do that to them, I mean-"
She hit him around the head. "Shut up and get some food in you."

Today's word of the day is: grandiose

Grandiose, which is an adjective, is defined as "impressive or magnificent in appearance or style, especially pretentiously so" or "excessively grand or ambitious".

Conarith had always admired her latest husband. Despite the fact that he was an ex-tyrant, and a murderer, and an all-around asshole, the one thing that one could not say about the man was that he did not have style. No matter where they went, Conarith's husband dressed to the nines in his most regal attire that was only completed by a grandiose cape.

And if all of that were not enough, the man would refuse to leave the house until his most important accessory was done up just as well (but never better) as him, all so that he could proudly drape her over his arm.

Charles walked into the polished hallway, letting a low whistle echo through the corridor. He knew Ainhoa had a taste for luxury, but this was too much. He examined the grandiose decoration, from the heavy velvet curtains framing mahogany arches, to the busts lining the recesses, to crystal chandeliers casting a cold glow through the house.
"Well, Ainhoa, you went all out." She turned to look at him with a derisive glare.

Today's word of the day is: diminutive

Diminutive can be an adjective or a noun, and is defined as "extremely or unusually small" or "a smaller or shorter thing, in particular".

Bokoba offered a silent prayer to the Divine before Conarith powered on her latest invention. The chances of the machine's success were diminutive enough, but if her mother could walk away from this disaster in the making with all of her limbs intact, it would be a victory yet.

"Everyone, quiet!" Charlotte stood on her pedestal. "Today's issue is serious. The Verlac forces are at large. We need order and, most of all, a solution."
Despite her diminutive figure, Consul Charlotte emanated power. The amphitheater quieted down instantly.

Today's word of the day is: coalesce

Coalesce, which is a verb, is defined as to "come together and form one mass or whole" or "combine (elements) in a mass or whole".

Dr. Moonchild smiled as her patient took a seat on her couch. "Good morning, Conarith. How are you this fine Airday morning?"

Conarith offered a weak smile of her own. "Good morning, doctor. And not so well, unfortunately."

"Oh?"

"I fell off again last night."

Dr. Moonchild sighed. Although this was not the first time that her patient fell off the wagon, it was always disappointing to hear.

"Let's explore why, shall we?" she said with as much empathy as she could muster. "Is it the nightmares? The voices? Flashbacks?"

Conarith shook her head in the negative. "It's because all of my problems are coalescing into one giant, insurmountable problem, and I truly believe that I won't be able to handle this while sober."

Dr. Moonchild nodded and scribbled a note in her journal telling her to up her patient's dosage before encouraging Conarith to continue.

Today was going to be a long day.

Lin smiled at Phillipa. "You're a vital part of this, Pippa. Just as vital as Thomas and Ariana and all the people who work backstage. We need our Eliza." She bit her lip and weighed her options. After a moment, she smiled.
"I could never leave you cinnamon rolls alone."
Lin laughed. He picked up his pen and turned back to the letter he had been writing. In my opinion, theater isn't an art. Theater is fourteen art forms, and that flawless moment when they all coalesce in just the right way.
Daveed burst into the room. "Come on, Pip. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story."

I’ve always heard about that “moment”. The moment where it doesn’t matter that you and your deskmate hate each other, or that the trumpets can’t hold a tune to save their lives, or that the flutes are always slightly flat in that high note – the moment where the individual instruments cease to exist and coalesce together into the unified whole called “orchestra”. It’s meant to be magical.
Well, apparently our ragtag bunch of musicians didn’t get the memo that this was meant to be the moment we put aside our differences and sound amazing. Because we don’t. It doesn’t take a musical genius to hear what we’ve all known along – we’re not coalescent, we’re divided and disconnected. We sound like a motor accident in Kalkutta. Or rather, a series of consecutive motor accidents, because heaven forbid we actually come in at the right cue at the same time with the right note.
Let’s not get too ridiculous here.