In a world where the Gods and Humans are at war with each other, both try to gain weapons to fight with.
One is The Oracle, and this is her beginning.
(Feedback is always welcomed. In fact, I beg for it.)
Part of ‘The Queen’ series, though written to be read on it’s own.)
A young girl stood clutching her mother’s dress. She was smaller, smaller than most kids her age.Her long auburn hair flowed around her shoulders brushing against the accents on her dress that identified her family as first class- the richest of the rich.
But none of this mattered, not to her, because she didn’t know. She didn’t know that her hair was the same color as the dark bark of the trees surrounding her house. Or that her dress was any different than kids her age. As the wind blow her hair around her plump cheeks, there was only one characteristic that stood out- unmoving ice cold blue eyes. She was blind.
The prologue to my first novel that I’m going to be working all summer to finish.
Any criticisms, feedback or whatever is greatly welcome. Thank you.
The Queen stood before her people. Her long deep green cloak flowed behind her, covering her bare shoulders. The strings of her white corset tangled down her stomach, and her matching skirt flowed like water around her legs, brushing against her knees-The embroidered vines catching the sun. Her wild red hair- “like fire”, they said- brushed against a long cut that she had received the night before on her milky white cheek.
As she moved you could see the shadows of scars on her bare arms. They spoke of battles fought and won for her kingdom.
As she looked around at her people, she smothered her pain, turning her heart as icy as her eyes.
She was no longer free.
Her wishes could no longer be her own.
She is now the Queen, and the Queen was a representation of the people. She must protect them. She must serve them.Being the Queen meant that she is but a lowly servant.
An attempt at first person, that kind of turned into a character study. Just a bit of writing practice taking a break from heavy duty writing and Heroes are for Losers.
Any criticisms are welcome!! Thank you. ~awannabewriter
When I was little, I didn’t believe in a lot of things that I should have. I didn’t believe in Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy. I didn’t believe in Magic, or love in first sight. I knew fairy tales weren’t real, and the good guys rarely won. Some people might call that a deprived childhood, and shake their heads in pity. But to me, this was the very thing that saved my life. You see, I might have known all this wasn’t real, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to believe it. And sometimes, if you want to believe something hard enough, you forget it’s not real.
Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.