Hi guys! Since I’m gearing up to finish the first draft of Watercolour Smile (don’t start mapping out timelines yet), I thought I’d release a little sneak peek of the prologue. You can read it below 🙂
This is entirely unedited, just a snippet of the manuscript as it stands right now–so no 1 star reviews, thanks. I figured I owed it to you all, since the “messenger” chapter at the end of Charcoal Tears was… admittedly… a big tease…
I wasn’t an angel by any measure.
I tried to do the right thing. I only wanted to protect myself, but sometimes that meant that other people would get hurt. It was an unofficial side-effect of my safety: the loss of everyone else’s. Sometimes when I went to sleep, I would see the faces of the people I loved, and I would see the targets above their heads—each brandishing a name in sloppy, red handwriting.
We all had our demons.
No, I wasn’t an angel—and over the years my appearance had begun to reflect my true nature. My hair was a cloud of shadow on a moonless night deprived of starlight. It reminded me of the midnight air of any place of darkness; mist-clogged graveyards, heavy and solemn; polluted skies, sucked of luminescence. Sometimes I stared into the strands, trying to get lost in visions of places beyond my touch. Even an imaginary, onyx necropolis was a haven for me. Preferable to the living dead that clogged my home: Gerald, our own personal demon, and my brother and I, barely daring to betray our living breaths for fear of discovery.
On its own—without the heaviness of my imagination, my hair might simply have been dark. Black. Plain. My eyes had no such leisure. They told stories unbeknownst even to me. They carried a weight of their own, a knowledge and a hidden augur that frightened me. If you stripped away the illusion, they were an ordinary set of blue eyes marred by the conflict of a violet that smoked almost to blue-black, and a green that danced with the kind of shadows that would keep you up at night—and not in a good way.
I wished that the peculiarities ended there, that I could stop, say end of story, and I’d be a simple girl, with a not-so-simple darkness eating away inside of her yet again. But that was not possible, because I now also had a very, very complicated relationship with four different men. One of them was my teacher, another was his borderline sociopathic twin, and two of them were pretending to be my brothers.
I had been turned inside out, and the complicated murk from inside was manifesting in ways that I could never have predicted.
It was closing in, surrounding me.