Rylan sat back in his chair. His manacles dug into his back. “I think she’d rather die than marry you.”
“Are you certain that you’re not speaking of yourself?”
“I’d rather die than marry you, too.”
1500 words by midnight. (And the snippet amused me. Rylan doesn’t get to be funny nearly enough.)
With all of the changes I’ve been making to the plot, my traditional progress bar is less than effective. Since my typical chapters run about 5-8k, I’m guessing that tonight’s effort is about 22% of the last chapter (ish). It’s progress, at any rate.