I’ve finally started drafting an opening to my tale that reflects the latest changes in plot, and I thought I’d post it up to share.  It is, course, pretty rough; I’ve cleaned it up just enough to keep myself from going crazy, but I don’t want to get too bogged down with edits.

I’m trying not to get too attached to the scene (once I’ve written the first draft of the book, I know I’ll have to slash and hack and murder my precious babies), but I think I can confidently say that I like this.  Without further ado, here is Chapter 1, Scene 1: “The Dream.”

Title: “Path to the Peacock Throne,” Scene 1: “The Dream”
Word Count: ~3350 words
Summary: Liandre, princess of Peridion, grapples with strange nightmares, clashes with the royal wizard, and has a few quiet moments with her beloved older brother before the funeral rites for their father, King Roland, begin.
Warnings: None
Notes: The inspiration for Liandre’s dress can be seen here.

It was the most perfect of days, one that invoked all of the senses. The ear was overcome by the roar of powerful ocean waves, and both nose and tongue by the salty tang of the sea breeze. The body luxuriated in the warmth of the sun’s rays, and the eye delighted in the enchanting sight of a dozen sea birds turning and diving like a team of trained aerial acrobats.

The child felt all of this, standing on the promontory that soared high above the shore. She was little more than three or four, a cherub-cheeked girl with laughing violet eyes and a head of dark curls. She spun happily, bare toes digging into the grassy earth, arms reaching for the sky. Her laughter was sweet and warm, the perfect counter against the birds’ shrill cries.

“Would you like me to show you how to call the birds, Princess?” The child looked up to see a woman’s smiling face; in her outstretched hand she held a plain wooden flute, smoothly polished and gleaming in the afternoon light. The child nodded in excitement and the woman sat down beside her and gathered her to her lap.

“Hold it here, gosling,” she whispered, arranging the girl’s fingers on the holes. “And now blow.”

Suddenly there was music and the rustle of wings — dozens of tiny birds dancing upon the wind, their flight timed with the song’s tempo. The child’s excitement and glee were practically tangible, the power that she invoked humming through her tiny body. She played the song again and again, all the while blind to the danger that lurked, hovering just beyond, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

It was a faceless darkness that encroached upon them. It came slowly at first, tendrils of smoke that insinuated itself like wispy threads across the brilliant blue sky. Anyone watching would have failed to see that anything was amiss; as the smoke grew, spreading with increasing speed and mounting malice, it was obvious that something was very wrong. It was too late to stop it. The darkness silenced the precious birds, blocked out the sun’s rays, eclipsed the woman’s loving face. The child stood in the midst of this swirling abyss, the final survivor against a foe she could never hope to understand. When the void finally closed upon her it swallowed everything — even her screams. Continue reading