BOOK 2!

Book 2 is in the works finally :') It took forever for me to get my motivation back to work on it. but i'm so glad the creative juices are flowing. here's chapter 1 for you.
Enjoy!

Book 2

Chapter 1 (Jasmine’s POV)

“Close the windows, Mom!” I shout down the stairs, “It’s freezing in here!”

Goosebumps reappear on my skin as I rummage through my closet to find a thicker blanket. Finally I find a horrendous blue and green plaid comforter and wrap it tightly around my shoulders. Even under my thick, black velvet pants I can practically feel my skin freezing, similar to the wet tree limbs turning to a frozen, slippery death trap. That is for those of us who climb trees. Me being one of them.

“I just closed all the windows!” My mother, Sofia, calls back to me from downstairs, repeating her previous motions with frustration. Then with a horrible cackle, my little brother Christopher, fourteen years old, runs by with a spare sheet tied around his neck like a cape shouting, “I am the window opener!”

“That’s a horrible name,” I mumble while walking down the stairs to join her in our small effort to stop the vigilante.

My mother nods in agreement before retreating to the kitchen, signaling her defeat.

I roll my eyes and begin to chase my brother around our living room. I’m careful not to hit the knee-high coffee table that sits in the middle of our c-shaped couch. My brother is not so observant.

Smack.

He goes down head first into our crème rug. I pray there’s no blood. It’d be impossible to clean a red stain from nearly white rug. Thanks to tree climbing, I’m stronger than most girls at 16, so I’m able to pick my brother up with one arm and haul him to the kitchen where my mother waits with a hot rag for his busted lip. He sits in one of the higher chairs so he’s equal height with my mother. She’s a petite woman with long curly dark hair, eyes, and tan skin. She’s curvy and all of her clothes accentuate her feminine features. Most of her friends say I look just like her. I suppose that’s true, if you squint.

Christopher, Chris for short, sticks out his bottom lip and looks at me with his big brown eyes pleadingly. He knows it doesn’t work on me, only Dad, but he tries anyway.

“That’s pathetic, Chris. The puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.” I say, pinching his cheek.

He bats my hand away, grabs the rag from my mom and heads up the stairs, stomping as he goes.

“He sure knows how to make a scene, doesn’t he?” My mother asks me.

“He gets it from you, right?” I tease her.

“Nah, he gets it from me,” My father walks through the front door and squeezes my shoulders from behind. “Hey Dad.” I turn half way and look up.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” He replies, ruffling my hair.

My Father stands at least a foot taller than me. He’s a tall, lean man with a head full of brown hair. He’s not as tan as my mother and me, but he’s not fair either.

Surprisingly, he’s home from work early today. He usually works well into the wee hours of the morning. He works for the government of Keystark, a foreign diplomat. He visits many of the countries besides Germany in this area; especially Russia recently. That’s all he’s been talking about. Our family has even had to host meetings for his colleagues to come to our home to work. I had to give up my bedroom three times in the last month. I haven’t been pleased.

“When are they arriving?” I hear my mother whisper to my father as she turns away, pretending I can’t hear her.

“Who?” I demand.

An awkward silence fills the room. I don’t think they’ve realized I’m not deaf. The conversations are like this every day. My parents ignore my existence and keep talking about these people. They don’t have a name. Just, they.

Quite frankly, I’ve had enough.

I walk to where they’re standing, push myself in between them, and glare hard. First at my mother for her constant secrecy and irritating demeanor; then at my father, for the constant lack of maturity he shows by not involving his family. As a young girl, all I ever heard was family is number one. Keep your family first. Number one priority. But now… we’ve been thrown out the window and replaced by a group of people known as they.

“Who are they?” I demand again. My voice shakes just enough to where only I can hear it.

“None of your business, Jasmine.” my father critiques. My mother nods her head in agreement, pushing me out of the room. But that’s the difference between my family and me. I’ve never easily accepted no for an answer.

As if electricity flew through my body, my reflexes cause me to move my mother behind me at full speed and push my father into the kitchen cabinets. I’m seething. I’m sure if you squinted, there would be foam around my mouth. “Who. Are. They?” I speak lowly. Almost a growl.

My father backs down almost immediately. His hands go up in surrender, so I back away. He begins to open his mouth, the words on the tip his tongue, when…

Ding Dong.

“I’ll get it!” Chris shouts from the top of the stairs. Even with the side of his mouth still puffy from the earlier accident, he managed to change clothes into a white button down shirt and khaki pants.

Halfway down the stairs, he glances my mom, noticing her fists tensed at her side. He’s always been closer to my mom than me. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and goes to answer the door. I glance to my right barely quick enough to see her release her clenched fists.

Still in the kitchen, my father gathers himself, smoothing his black jacket down with both hands. “You will behave yourself.” He whispers in the left ear. It’s not a cruel demand, almost pleading in a way. He knows I could ruin his whole job, with one word. But I won’t say anything, because he’s my father. And family doesn’t do that.

The whole room is silent as Chris opens the door.

“Good evening, Mr. Richter. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

There are four people at my doorstep. I can’t see them all at once, but most appear to be young men and women. Maybe a bit older than me. The first is a woman; I’d guess around twenty-two years of age. She wears navy blue dress pants and a matching jacket. Under her jacket is a white blouse with a collar. Although, my eyes are immediately drawn to the lapel pin she is wearing.

A Hummingbird.

It’s crystal blue with white eyes. If you stare long enough, the wings almost appear to move. Momentarily entranced, I missed her walk through the doorframe and make our living room her home. She has long black hair with chocolate brown highlights and very blue eyes.

“Do you like my broach?”

“Huh?” I ask, only after realizing she was talking to me.

“My broach?” She points to the bird. “You like it?”

“Oh, yes. It’s beautiful.” I reply sweetly. All smiles for Daddy.

She stands back up from where she was sitting on the couch in the living room and walks over to me. “I’m Camryn Jones.” She sticks out her hand forcefully.

I take it. “Jasmine Richter,” I reply evenly.

“Oh! You’re Mr. Richter’s daughter! Obviously…” Her demeanor changes almost immediately. I really wouldn’t care for special treatment, but right about now, I just don’t want to end up grounded.

Her hand goes up to my hair and twirls it between her fingers, “Your hair is so pretty!” She squeals with delight.

“Oh… Thank you. I get it from my mother.”

“Here, here. You have to meet Delia.” She grabs my hand and pulls me through the throng of people talking to my father.

We pass by one of the men that came, a name I think I hear in passing, as Mitch Zelder, and approach a girl with extremely long white blonde hair. Her eyes have no pigment…. They almost look red. Albino, people call it, I think, It works for her.

She’s so thin you can see her blue veins visibly through her skin. Her bone structure is profound. She’s similar to a walking ghost. Visibly, she is one of the most intriguing people I’ve ever seen. Though, I’m most drawn to her hands. They are covered in black marks; patterns, designs. I think I spy the symbol for recovery, when…

“Jasmine. This is Delia MacIntire.” Camryn introduces us.

Delia sticks out her hand and smiles gracefully. For a split second, I question sticking my hand out at all. I’m scared I’ll break her. Yet I do it anyway. I extend my hand to meet hers.

“Ouch.” I accidently say out loud as I’m surprised by her strength.

Her and Camryn giggle. Camryn turns to Delia, “She’s the first to say it out loud, huh?”

“Most people try to hide their shock, not you. You’ll fit in with us just fine.” Delia says to me.

“How are you….?” I can’t even find the right word for the situation. My awe.

“Strong? Still alive?” She finishes for me. Then her voice gets really quiet. “I honestly have no idea.”

I nod slowly. I glance backwards and notice there is still someone standing in the doorway.

“I should probably go let everyone in. It was nice to meet you both.” I say, backing away.

They both smile back at me. “Okay. See you around, Jasmine.” The response is unison. Their voices find the exact same pitch and resonate in my living room, quite loudly. Even calling my Father’s attention away from his conversation with Mitch… or whatever his name is.

“I’ll get the door.” I mumble under my breath, shoving my father lightly as I walk by.

One person remains outside. I can tell he’s male from his broad stature. His hair is a white blonde, similar to Delia. My heart quickens.

I urge my pulse to diminish, for I’m sure everyone within a five-mile radius could hear my heavy breathing. In this moment, I’d rather be dead than do what I’m about to do.

“Um… Excuse me?” I cough heavily and I know I sound out of breath. Great second impression, Jasmine.

“Yes? Do I need to come inside?” He asks confidently. Not even a split second flicker in his eyes. He has no idea who I am.

Cole MacIntire.

His blue eyes aren’t full of fire anymore. They’re ice cold. Scary almost, if I think about it too long. He’s grown up and I haven’t. I remember the day he left like it was yesterday. It seemed to flash before my eyes -

“I’ll come back for you.” He breathed into my hair. “This isn’t over. Not until we’re together.”

- as he walked right past me and into my house.   

Cole MacIntire.

The first love of my life.

Has no idea who I am. 

Mara and Zack

HI OKAY FAVORITE SCENE IN THE ENTIRE BOOK TO WRITE
but here's the deal.
these two are perfect.
that's it.

Here's my favorite scene of them.

from mara's POV obvs

Happiness is relative though. Not everyone sees jubilee and cheerfulness the same way. Then sometimes, people do not see it at all; whether they choose to or not. I wonder now if Zack knows how unhappy he looks; or rather, if he cares. And if he does care, does he choose to be unhappy or does sadness consume him?

Despite the looks of the others, I sit down next to Zack. He has moved back behind everyone else; they are close to the edge of the cliff, which undoubtedly scares him, I can see it in his eyes.  And his hands. They’re shaking; yet the rest of him is calm. He sits cross-legged like before, while I place my hands behind me and straighten my legs out in front. The people around us start to shed clothing, one by one taking the daring plunge off the cliff and into the water. Screams fill the air and break the silence. Silence I crave; somehow I know Zack craves it too.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Tay asks sweetly.

“Maybe later.”

Shrugging casually, she dives in hands first, like an elegant swan. Zack and I breathe out at the same time. Huffs of air escaping our open lips; signs of instant relief. He chuckles softly; the tone is low and whole. “I don’t even want to be here.” He tells me, sighing.

“Then why do you come?”

“My brother.” I give him a confused look. “Drew. He’s my older brother; my parents won’t let him go out unless I go with him. Drew and Zack Light: The Light Brothers. Always living up to expectations – until now.” His voice is somber. It’s obvious now that the overwhelming sadness is not a chosen phenomenon. “Now the devil lives in my soul.” He laughs darkly. “At least that’s what the Sage says. He believes I am plagued with unhappiness for years to come.”

“Unhappiness because of what?” I want to know more about him. He intrigues me; I worry now of self-investment. I thirst for knowledge of his past. Who is he? Where did he come from? Who will he become?

“No one knows. It appeared out of nowhere. But it’s here to stay.” His mouth forms a defined frown.

“No it’s not.” I say, standing up. I begin to take off my dress until I’m just standing in my undergarments. I extend my hands down to help him up. “What are you doing?” He asks me while taking my hands. I don’t answer him at first. I unbutton his jacket slowly and then his shirt, throwing the tie to the side as well. “We’re going to find happiness.” I say.

“What do you mean?” He asks me, apparently very confused.

“You said unhappiness found you. Well, we’re going to find happiness.” I take his hand in mine, think no second thoughts, and leap off the edge of the cliff. He’s screaming at me, words of hurt I’m sure, but I can’t bring myself to care. My fingers are being crushed in between his but this is the happiest I’ve ever been. The air gets warmer as we fall; the wind floating down my scarcely clad body, raising goose bumps on my skin, giving me feeling. As soon as we hit the water, all the air gets pushed out of my chest. On impact, Zack and I are separated. I search for his hand but I don’t see him. At my first instinct to breathe, water floods my lungs. I splutter but eventually make it to the surface. While wading in the water, I see Zack break the surface not too far to my right. I look at him and nod at the bed of rock in front of us. We pull ourselves onto the rock and he stares at me with wide eyes. “You alright?” I ask cautiously.

“I feel alive.” He reaches over and wraps me in a hug. Water droplets roll off of our bodies, and the wind laps at our feet, but I am warm, I am calm in his embrace. “Thank you.” He whispers into my neck softly. I can feel his hot tears against my skin. I can’t say anything in return; tears block my throat. In my lack of ability, I rub his back repeatedly in circles. Tears continue to flow from his eyes, the pain released in physical form, him breaking down for everyone to see. Is this what alive feels like? Have I ever really been alive?

Alexis and Parker

This is probably my favorite couple of the book. They are the only couple that I stuck with when I originally started planning the novel. What I love about them is their similarities. Most couples that people are obsessed with are the whole "opposites attract" thing. what I love with Parker and Alexis is that they both so desperately crave love and affection. both of them were unloved as children. they were never appreciated; torn from my their families. they seek refuge in one another. they have this fate because of Mara, which they never wanted, but they love her because Alexis and Mara are sisters by family and Mara and Parker are related by Atlas. They have this undying bond and its so lovely to write about. Here's a scene for them. Leave some comments? :)

this is from Alexis' POV:

When leaving the Dining Hall, Mara slides over to my ring, “Should we switch places now?” She whispers, careful not to let anyone hear.

“Not yet, besides my mother likes you better.” I smirk at her, sending her and Grace off to bed.

Before the boys go the other way, I grab the back of Parker’s shirt and pull him towards me. “Something bad is about to happen.” I tell him, “I don’t know what, but I can’t lose you.” He nods, “You’re not going to lose me.”

He picks me up and spins me around, then places me down on my feet lightly and kisses me. His lips are light, not as intense as I had imagined. They’re sweet – like honey and crème in my coffee. I press in deeper, needing to feel him, to keep him close to me.

“I can’t lose you either.” He breathes into my lips as we separate. “You won’t” is the best response I can manage. He pulls me into a full hug, resting my head against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat in my ear. I could stay in this moment forever.

“Sal told me to warn you. Mara is not dangerous, but what comes with being around her is. Stay on your toes.” His hands slide on my neck, right behind my ears.

“Are you warning me too?” I have a tendency not to listen to Sal, but Parker… I’ll listen.

“Yes. Be warned. This isn’t just Mara’s fate anymore – it’s ours too.”

With that statement, he flees. Leaving me standing in the hallway, cold and desperate. Can I trust anyone after all? My mind answers this one for me, No.

Chapter 1

This is the only actual part of the book I will posting on here for a while. But here is Chapter 1! I hope you guys like it - leave some comments if you want. Feedback is always welcome :)

Chapter 1 (Mara’s POV)

“Bring us to Freedom, bring us to Salvation. Bring us to Astoren, land of no destruction. Give us reason; give us peace. Standing side by side in comfort, you and me.”

I sit with my family at the kitchen table for breakfast. We clasp our hands, forming one ring, and say the words of the city prayer. We eat biscuits and jam prepared by my mother and sip on coffee freshly roasted by my father. Our kitchen is quaint. There are tall windows letting more than enough light in to illuminate the crystal figurines my mother has dangling from the ceiling.

Jack, my father, rises slowly. It’s not like him to get up early from breakfast. “I have gifts for you two.” He says. He pats my sister Case’s head lightly, and then disappears up the stairs.

Today is the first Sunday of the April, which means its Mass Day. The entire city of Astoren attends a grand service led by the High Priest of Galena. He is a peculiarly short man with a white pointy hat and gold robes. I often think he’s going to drop dead on the podium each year. It became a game between my sister and I, to see who would guess the curious short man’s death.

My sister and I race up the stairs, tripping each other as we go. Entering our room, we spot new clothing. Case squeaks with delight. She dances around the room with her new dress pressed up against her body. In contrast, my interest carries to the window. Or really, what I see through the glass. The cherry blossom trees are in full bloom today. I can’t help but smile.

I dress myself in the nice clothes my father gave my sister and me for Mass Day. My dress is white with gold patters on the sleeves ending right above my knees. It makes me look even more pale than usual; I often wish my mother had done the shopping, but it wasn’t my place to ask. My father hardly gives gifts; so when he does, you take them. My younger sister Case is dressed in a pale pink dress, the color of the cherry blossoms swirling in the wind outside the door. The color pairs well with her light blonde curls that I so envy. They fall so delicately over her shoulders, like a princess – the princess I could never be.

My mother pulls my charcoal black hair into a long ponytail that rests on my upper back. She secures it with a gold ribbon made of silk. I find myself touching the ribbon, fingering it lightly between my forefinger and my thumb. It’s soft like the dress I am wearing. Not like me at all.

            I leave to wash my face. Somewhere inside me, I hope if I rinse my body enough times later I can get rid of the other person my parents want me to be. The water burns against my face; so cold and alive. I find myself staring into the mirror; looking for something. Looking for me, perhaps?

“Mara, are you coming?” My mother shouts from downstairs; I can hear the tapping from her foot on the bottom-most stare, something she only does when she’s nervous.

“Yes, Mother!” I call bitterly, trying to mask how upset I am for today. Mass Day is my least favorite day of the season. We have a Mass Day once per season; one in Autumn, Winter, Spring and Summer.

Spring Mass is renowned as the best mass to attend because of the scenery to the Chapel. Astoren now has very few trees because of the clearing, which initiated the building of the Chapel and the Great Museum. The Great Museum contains the history of Astoren. We’re required to visit at least twice between the ages of ten and sixteen to better educate ourselves on our past. I’ve been twice, but to me the past is in the past. Life is all about the future; something Astoren doesn’t seem to understand.

Our streets are paved in a tan concrete, smooth as can be even though people walk on them every day. I admire the stands in the street of people selling papers; the hard workers of Astoren never get enough credit. Everything here revolves around The Four, the men and women who run the government. They tell us what we can and cannot do, what we can and cannot think. The Four are chosen for the four qualities of an Astoren citizen: a strong man for Defense, a brave woman for Foreign Diplomacy, a cunning woman for Intelligence, and a man with endurance for Discipline. The people elect them; a rule kept from the Old Age. Unless, they become unfit for office. Then they will be publically executed to prove to all the younger citizens what the life of being one of The Four is like. Of course these were only facts learned from my teachers over the years; yet I still questioned the authority of this city when our past seemed way too good to be true. Astoren saved itself from chaos; Astoren came out victorious. Somehow I think it was the other way around.

I curse to myself as we approach The Chapel. It’s a magnificent building; similar to the Gothic Architecture we have studied in school. There is one giant turret in the center with a large, overbearing cross on the top; the other sides are paneled with stain glass windows of the Great Revival, the pain the citizens of Astoren endured before rising to become fruitful. Or, in my opinion, false advertising.

As I climb the stairs to the chapel, Case in front of me, we stop to shake the hand of Diego Johnson: The Everlasting, The Man of Endurance, the youngest member of The Four.  He isn’t as foreboding as his counterparts, but he is just as impressive within himself. He is the only member of The Four I respect. His claim to fame is his cross-country trek of Russia in the winter; everyone in Astoren was surprised he was alive, the city celebrated for weeks upon his return.

Today he is dressed in a gold, floor length robe with The Man of Endurance’s symbol emblazoned on the front, left side: a crest with an Arabian Horse and gold leaves around the outside. It is a symbol of resilience, of a never-ending fight for victory. His hair is a coffee black, much like my own, and his eyes much resemble my own as well, a striking grey. He is hardly frightening, but quite formidable nonetheless.

His grip is firm and his stare hard. Most people look down when shaking hands with one of The Four; instead, I meet his gaze straight on, my eyes not wavering. He releases my hand, his face ghosting the hint of a smile. I ignore it, The Four never sit well with me, and they’re far too suspicious, I try to stay as far away from them as possible.

We pass through the massive double doors and file into our appropriate seats. No one changes seats from year to year; therefore, things move a lot smoother and there aren’t any interruptions. I find my family’s place in the fourth row on the left hand side and slide into the middle seat, crossing my legs underneath and preparing myself to stare off into space for two hours. But today is different; I can feel it in the air. The walls of the chapel are lined with guards; of course there usually are guards due to sudden outbursts, but never this many.

The doors bang open and I see Diego Johnson walk down the center aisle, gold cloak billowing in his wake. My eyes follow him as he walks onto the stage and I realize all of the members of The Four are with us today. They are seated on the stage at the very front of the chapel, two to the right of the Priest’s lectern, and two to the left. Diego seats himself on the far right and my eyes travel from his position left, as I have never seen all of them together. As much as supposedly work together for the good of Astoren, they’re hardly friends, especially the boys. Next to Diego Johnson is Kathryn Anderson, the Cunning. Her long blonde hair curls so much like a princess I wonder if she belongs in Galena. She is wearing a navy blue floor length dress with a black jacket. The left lapel of her jacket has the fox pin she always wears to important events. The fox is the symbol of trickery and deceit and she wears it with pride.

“Mom, is this going to be a normal Mass Day?” Case asks lightly, trying not to anger my mother. My mother is not a fan of inconsistency, and this is inconsistency at its finest.

“Yes, dear, it will be fine.” My mother responds, but I see can feel her leg tapping nervously against the side of the chair; today will be far from fine.

My eyes turn back to the stage, taking in the other two members of The Four, of whom I haven’t seen in person before. I recognize woman in the inside, nearest to the lectern, as Rachel Connolly. She has long red hair, like flames, and is entitled as The Brave. Her dress is green, much like her eyes; She resembles grass on fire in my opinion. She also has a lapel pin on her dress, just like Kathryn, except hers is a Tiger: the symbol of bravery in the old texts of Asia. She is easily the biggest threat of The Four. Her initiation consisted of facing the deadliest creatures Astoren could give to her; rumor was that she defeated a dragon. To her left is Jace Watkins, The Strong. His head is close-shaven, which pairs ferociously with his black eyes. He wears a black cloak with the crest of an Eagle on the left side similar to Sir Johnson’s.

The Four merely sit there; they do not say a word the entire service. I’m starting to think this was just a set up, to keep people in line. My father told me this happens occasionally when the city feels a rise up is about to occur. And so, I allowed myself to fall asleep, as usual, staring off into the beautifully painted abyss that is the ceiling of The Chapel.

 Mass passes by quickly and before I knew it Case was ushering me to the side for family pictures. Each year at the Spring Mass, photos are taken in order to keep track of the people in Astoren. A crude way to do it, yes; but the gifts from my father made sense now. It had been a whole year and I had definitely forgotten about the family photos. These family photos are kept in a book and regulated by Kathryn Anderson of The Four. The new pictures every year help figure out who has passed in each family and dictates the amount of family time we get each week. There are no formal burials in Astoren, so this is the best way they have figured to keep track.

Upon leaving the Chapel, I watch Case skip down the street while my mother places her hand on my back. My mother isn’t a very affectionate woman and this was her way of saying, “I love you.” I can’t help but wonder why today of all days. Nevertheless we approach the home and everyone tumbles inside leaving me to stare. I’d never given our home a proper look before. The homes in Astoren are so far apart I often find myself admiring the other homes, but never my own. It is a quaint place with beautiful oak trees in the front yard, one on each side. We have a white wooden fence around the outside, of course it was Case’s idea but I went along with it anyway. I swallow deep, gather myself, and breach the doorway into the house.

Supper will be served in a few hours, which means I still have time to work on my sculpture. I remove the elaborate dress and make up from earlier and put on my day clothes: brown pants that fall to mid calf and my gray woolen shirt. I sit in a wooden chair in the center of a plain room. My hands work the clay in front of me. Back and forth, up and down. The shape is finally taking place; it calms me, as it always has. I dip my fingers in the middle to carve out the basin shape that will eventually hold water.

There is a loud noise in the foyer and my fingers slip, puncturing a hole in the side. I grumble and turn off the wheel and kiln, I will need to start over tomorrow. Hopefully my Skills teacher won’t mind.

I tiptoe into the main hallway only to see two men in black suits arguing over a body on the floor. Mom? Dad? Case? It can’t be –it’s Case. Her blonde hair is strewn behind her, blood rolling from her lips onto the floor. Is she dead? I don’t have time to notice. I see the curtains are torn, chairs broken, and one of the officials is nursing his arm. She must have put up a good fight. Oh, Case. I wish I could’ve saved you. Time is creeping upon me and I know what I must do. I turn to run, spinning on my heels but the guards see me. It’s no use. They are too fast. One grabs my arms behind my back; I can feel his uncanny strength throwing me off balance. I try to scream but something is shoved in my mouth. I bite down and taste blood, hot and metallic, it must have been his hand, I think. I receive a slap to the face for that one. I thrash, I hear voices, and then there is something cold against my neck. I can feel the liquid enter my veins, cold and overwhelming. My arms tingle, I feel my chest raise, my airflow stops, then I feel nothing. Everything is black.

The beginning!

The Tainted Prophecies.

A Four book series.

The stories of Mara, Alexis, Parker, and Sal.

I will be posting snippets of the book, summaries, and publishing information - if that comes to pass, on here. 

I hope you guys enjoy my blog!