Prologue One -- A Snippet

Prologue One [Current Draft]

The Traverse compound buzzed with activity. Members of the band’s road crew meandered in and out of the main house carrying equipment, instruments, and luggage to the caravan of trucks and buses parked out front. The clang of steel, squeaky wheels, jovial laughter and an expletive or three permeated the air. The band’s long-awaited Caged Heart compilation hit the stores only last week and they were readying to set out on their West Sector tour, ending a lengthy hiatus shrouded in mystery and debate.

Upstairs in her apartment, Perrie Stevens packed the last of her own travel needs. Two of the band's roadies entered the sitting room as she folded a couple of camisoles and placed them in a carryall. One slid a trolley under the steamer trunk while the other picked up the heavier luggage. “Anything else?” a disembodied voice, in EastSector brogue, called into the bedroom.

“One more trip.” Perrie answered.

“Bus or truck?”

“Bus.” she called back.

Perrie ignored the rant that ensued, but cringed when she heard the crack of wood against the doorframe as they made their way out into the corridor. The only equipment marked, ‘Handle With Care!’ the one she’d taken the most time and care to pack, already tested her fortitude. Despite the irritation, Perrie held her tongue. She wasn’t in the mood for their, ‘Suck it up and deal with it’ banter. Instead, she walked the carryall and a garment bag over and set them down just outside her bedroom door. On her way back to the dressing table, Perrie looked around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

She stopped at the bed when the little brown tiger-striped cat, lying on the ivory brocade comforter folded-down at the footboard, called out for attention.

"I know, my dearest Queenie.  It is much too noisy around here today."

Perrie had leaned over to rub Queenie’s cheeks. But when stopped, seemingly all too soon, the petite feline trilled melodically. As Perrie bent to sit on her heels, Queenie stretched her lithe neck. Her long black whiskers lurched forward and each met the other nose to nose. Perrie couldn’t help but smile as Queenie’s equally long and swoopy eyelashes tickled her face. Queenie’s task as protector and constant companion during her sojourn here had now ended.

“I will miss you little one.” Perrie whispered.

The purring grew more audible as Perrie cupped her hand over Queenie’s delicate face, ran it down her back and along her silky plume of a tail. Reluctantly, Perrie then rose to resume her packing. With whiskers drawn back to the sides of her face, Queenie laid her head down between her forepaws in a solemn resolve.

Perrie gathered and deposited the last of her hand baggage by the door. As she turned one last time, Perrie surveyed the room’s lush surroundings. After her release from the hospital, band members moved her into this suite to convalesce. Perrie would miss the comfort and security the compound had afforded her. And joining Traverse on tour meant a loss of the most precious to her of all gifts, privacy

Prior to her arrival, though they’d known each other only from Within, Traverse’s Frontman—a man who bore a striking resemblance to her former husband—kept the suite in a constant state of waiting and specific to Perrie’s known tastes and interests. In a premeditated anticipation of her needs, the entire apartment—which included a design studio and the mysterious White Room where she wrote the forthcoming novel, The Last Heartbound—had been decorated in period antiques.

Furnished with ornate walnut and burl wood furniture, the bedroom had been dressed in lavish  lace, crocheted, and heirloom bedclothes. Walls papered in a muted floral print added to the ambiance and warmth of the room, and the verdant boudoir garden brought the outdoors in-- especially   until she recovered enough to walk those of the courtyard below.

‘Dellasseea N’Syis,’ a tranquil voice beckoned from Within

Perrie closed her eyes and lowered her head.  And with her chin angled toward her left shoulder she endeavored to search out the source. But there were so many voices barking commands or raising further questions.  Not to mention the swell of emotions that ebbed and flowed. But no answer to her silent inquiry.

'Too much chaos.' Yet, she continued reason it could not have come from any one downstairs.

At a loss, Perrie went on with the matters at hand and gathered up the last of her more immediate work-related items: a tape recorder; her portable workstation; laptop; and date planner. She slipped each inside their respective pockets of the tapestry portfolio that sat on the bench in front of her dressing table. She hesitated and then reached for her most recent journal. The hand- pressed paper of her own design, bound in sueded leather, recounted the latest of her visions and moments Within.

Before securing it away, Perrie lifted the front cover and removed a neatly folded, yellowed news clipping. Distracted by the warm breeze wafting in through the French doors, Perrie laid the journal back upon the bench and made her way across the room. The tonal ivory and silk embroidered drapery billowed softly and brushed at Perrie’s leg as she walked out onto the balcony. She walked past the white wicker chaise and stopped to rest her hands upon the balustrade.

Swirls of fog lingered in the shadows of the grounds and a hint of salt rose up from the bay. The terra-cotta tile felt cool underfoot as Perrie stood and let the warmth of a new day caress her. Loose wisps of hair fluttered about her face as she stared across a cloudless autumn sky.

Perrie raised her right hand and drew it up her breastbone. Her fingertips traced languorously at a circular indentation; a scar left by a would-be assailant. Nearly a year to the day since the shooting, scars left by the entry wound and the surgical removal of the projectile and fragmented bone was all but hid by the couture, baroque-style bustier of linen and fine lace. Up until this morning, she’d kept them entirely hidden from public view. Today, Perrie chose to wear her scars.

Taken aback by a sudden pang to her chest, Perrie let out a soft grunt. As she closed her eyes and drew a clenched hand, fisted to her heart, Perrie inhaled deep and released a long, hard-drawn breath. In an attempt to refocus on the moment, Perrie exercised her breathing to a slower pace and concentrated on disconnecting from the others; but, given the gravity of their circumstance, her heart remained unsettled.

Truth be known, she didn’t really want to disconnect. It made everything all the more real— And besides, she couldn’t ignore or even be sure how much of her own all-consuming angst factored in to the emotions this particular day fostered. Somewhere throughout the compound, three other Heartbounds engaged in the day’s goings-on and all were feeling exceedingly anxious. The suffering of any one Heartbound increases ten-fold upon the others. On this day it grew in intensity the closer it gets to actually hitting the road.

Upon remembering the warmth that bathed her face, Perrie opened and fixed her eyes—long marked by its fire—to the mid-morning sun. Feeling the heat envelop them, she watched as the sky changed to its truer affect. Something that went unnoticed by the masses, unless they shunned their societal conditioning and looked, eyes wide, upon the sun. The yellow-orange orb radiated into a rosy-pink that spread vast into the outermost atmosphere of brilliant blue. A color combination utilized by the Allied Bands—primarily as cover art and a key piece of the ever-growing puzzle during her Awakening.

......... If you want to read the rest of the Prologue, go to Facebook and "Like" The Forbidden World Chronicles, and then PM me for an Encrypted Copy of the PDF.
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~Dellasseea N'Syis, First-born Daughter of the Primal Elements.
Prisoner of that which is most commonly referred to as The Forbidden World.
Third Era/Third Displacement of Time/The Alone Years.

 

 

Comments and/or Questions are welcome.

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Blessings, LL Abbott

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Caged Heart--The Last Heartbound / The Forbidden World Chronicles ~L.L. Abbott
Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved -- Current Draft