The story of a banished princess.
Kind of interesting, but it's been there, done that. Right?
What the heck, I'll give it a shot.
Now maybe three years later, I have made huge discoveries in that story. Never really thought it would go this far.
And I've decided it's unique in it's mish-mashing. I've taken several cliches and set them on puree in the story blender.
For instance, the princess is tortured. And she was affected by it psychologically. Don't see that in too many fairy tales (I mean, when you do, they're usually out of their minds, and she's not).
Then of course is the plot twist that shocked me for a month. But just in case this thing ever makes it to the library shelves, I won't go into that. Seriously, it's a big one though...
I really like my characters, Aby and Trina. Trina is rather aloof, and I think she sometimes comes across as cold and unreachable, but that's what she wants. I gave her some exposed moments, but right now the story's in its skeletal frame stage. I'll flesh it out later and put that in there.
But this is problem the third, no, fourth revision. It's on the right track and everything. Of course, that's only the beginning of the story that's on it's fourth revision. But I daresay the Prologue for the story is the Best thing I've ever written.
PrologueThe chains around her wrists and ankles must have been heavy, but she stood tall. And her long, dark hair had matted over the last months, yet it was still somehow glorious. She wore a simple dress, barely deserving of the word, so old, torn, and filthy it was, though she wore it with full regality.
So that now as she faced her cousin, she looked every bit the princess she was. A fact that drove him to the end of himself.
Her pale lavender eyes gazed steadfastly into his own dark, evil ones, which refused to meet hers. But he hid it extremely well.
“Face it,” he almost oozed, “I have triumphed. Surrender now while you still can!”
She made no answer; her calm, steady nerve never faltering. Rogan was irritated by this, and his frustrations were rapidly increasing. He would have to act before he did something regrettable.
“No? Well then, I’m going to have to eliminate you.”
“Do you honestly think you can kill me? At least without the grave consequences of which the poets sing?”
“Why, my dear cousin, do you not know that there are many ways to eradicate an obstacle without technically destroying it?” When she did not answer, he sparked into the circle of stones between them.
It was a Magic fire, for it burn without fuel, hovering a few inches away from the stones. It was also unmistakably Evil. For its flames were a blue and red, and they filled the room with a decidedly sinister air, though they produced no traditional smoke.
Rogan, practiced in his Dark crafts, began to chant. The flames heightened and shot in different shapes. Rogan, with well-placed sweeps of the hand, formed them into a circle which swirled towards the center.
He spoke again and she felt her chains drop off, and Rogan was suddenly behind her, pushing her through the circle.
She landed oddly with a thud on damp grass as the vortex closed up above her. She dazedly realized what had happened. She had been sent to her grandfather’s world. To a place called Earth.
