Hello my lovelies, I’m sorry for being a bit lax with posting this week but it’s crunch time with all the packing for the move, so I’ve been up to my elbows with old memories and plastic containers! But to make it up to you, I’m going to do something I NEVER do: which is give you all a sneak peek at what I’m working on novel-wise at the moment! Technically, I should be working on Prophecy right now, as it’s the second book in the series I have planned, but I’ve been captivated with Ashes for a while now so the snippet you’ll read here is from Ashes (a novel further along in the same series as Believe and Prophecy). As of right now, Ashes is looking to be a two-part novel written in first person, with the first part being told by one character and the second by another. This sneak peek comes from the second part and it may work its way into the novel itself, or it may end up being just a character musing that I work off of and tweak. Either way I hope you enjoy!
A clip entitled “Mother” from Ashes (pt 2):
It’s been over twenty years and I still dream about her nearly every night. Her copper eyes – my eyes –twinkle back at me from an unearthly lovely face framed by dark, flowing black hair as she laughs –a throaty, feminine sound – at something I cannot see or do not remember. The crown of blue ink stands out vividly against her pale brow, and I long to trace those entwined lines with my fingertips again, feeling the slight ridge where marked skin meets flawless porcelain. Her face is as familiar to me now as it was then; other details of that life long ago have faded, but not this. Often I find her near our home, standing amid the stark beauty of the reddish-brown desert with the heat of the sun bearing down upon us both as we search each other’s faces for traces of the passage of time. There are other faces in these dreams as well – dark, blurry images – that leave me with a tingling sensation of home and something lost, but always I reach for her.
At times she evades me and hides in the darkness of the place I cannot enter, a place she won’t let me near. The darkness is off-limits, a place out-of-bounds and forbidden, even here in my own dreams. Don’t…don’t look back.
Some nights she weeps there in the darkness and for a brief moment I can see her stretched over-top a pile of stones where she slumps into herself, broken and sobbing, asking me where I’ve been, why I’ve not come to find her yet. Help me…help me Ryzan, she begs before she begins screaming, those awful, tearing screams that haunt me and leave me shaken and drained for days afterward. Her piercing voice shifts from agonizing howls of pain, to gorge-rising screams of fear, before finally becoming the guttural shrieks of rage, so filled with hatred that I’m suddenly thrust back, forced from her presence as though shoved by a full-blooded vampyre.
From these dreams, I always awake trembling and reaching for her, fearing that once again I am lost and knowing that for a moment, she had been near enough to grasp. Thankfully these dreams are few, and most nights I merely see her smiling face haloed by the buttery, yellow light of the desert sun – the face of my memory – and I know. She is out there still, waiting for me to find her.
One day I will.