Death of a Human Heart ~ Part Two

~shadagishvili

 from his eyes came 

subtle acknowledgement

from her eyes falls
gently his peace

*** [AREAS NEEDS MORE TRANSITION]

 

Dellasseea [Perrie] offered up a meaningful, “Thank you.” when the rain stopped abruptly.  She felt the dampness in her bones and longed for a warm cup of tea.  Unfortunately, distant snipers still had them pinned down.  Khy-Lin fired off another shot when four rounds pinged off the armored plating just ahead of them.

 

‘Interpreter's down!’  

 

The VoiceThought statement pierced the inner silence of Within.  Taken aback, Dellasseea looked to Khy-Lin. Yes.  He heard it as well.

 

***

 

Veiled by the darkness Lionheart raced back to the front.  Though he chose to return alone, just as he’d come, two Allied troops followed close behind.  He dropped and rolled behind a jeep when he saw two flashes up ahead.  Having missed their mark, Lionheart heard them wiz by and sink into the earth.  He cursed the muddied ground as he rose to take off again; as he still had some distance go. 

 

Born of this world, Lionheart could not see or walk Within, as could those who fought so hard to get and take his charge back home.  But, somewhere in his family’s history, there had been an hybrid birth; giving him the ability of Voice-Thought. 

 

With haste imperative, Lionheart ran on through the dark.  He wrestled with what he’d witnessed and the message he bore; but, suppressing the urge to protect Dellasseea N'Syis from providence a few moments longer, he once again risked vulnerability and shouted Within, ‘Interpreter's down!’

 

It’s all she would need to hear.  Though there came no immediate response, he knew to expect none. 

 

***

 

The words send a chill rippling up her spine and through her entirety.  Though graciously long in coming, Lionheart's communiqué clearly indicated the realization of yet another predetermined night.  Dellasseea shut her eyes momentarily to still the swell of her heart.  She then indicated to Khy-Lin the need to disengage. 

 

With no questions asked they broke from the conflict.  Crossing the strap of his M-14 over his neck and shoulder, Khy-Lin wove the fingers of his left hand between hers, grabbed up the Dragon, and then took off to meet Lionheart halfway.  Grasping up clips and magazines, two troops followed after watching their backs. 

 

Trusting her guardian to duty—maneuvering around burned out vehicles and wet craggy terrain—Dellasseea lost herself in memories of Interpreter's cryptic alliance.

 

Due to the circumstance of her false birth, Dellasseea N'Syis spent the greater part of her human life (as Perrie Stevens) ignorant of the fact that she was, by this world’s understanding, empathic.  She could literally feel that proverbial tension in a room.  Once Awakened--the stratagem used to draw her attention to her disguised imprisonment--the process of distinguishing her feelings from another’s began.  Learning to recognize is one thing.  Disconnecting hers from theirs proved the more difficult.  Especially when those closest to her stood to lose the comfortable lives they’d become accustomed to.

 

Her imprisonment required she be stripped of this ability. Or to at very least be and remain unaware of any knowledge of her own capabilities.  Perceiving what another is thinking is a powerful tool, especially when used by those suffering a lesser degree of integrity.  Extremely beneficial to the ongoing struggle and those who perpetuated the greater lie upon the masses. 

 

Though her Awakening offered harsh lessons, the learning explained a great many things to her.  Among them being that certain thoughts evoke specific emotions and emotions emit outward.   Imagine a sordid man’s confusion when—even though he knows he’s looking less-than-kindly upon a beautiful, innocent-minded woman and says nothing to offend or give himself away—ends up surprised by her rejection of him. 

 

Imagine the woman not recognizing that what she feels is his threatening and perverse emotions.  She walks away feeling ugly—believing she’s physically ugly—not knowing it was the dark emotions she picked up on.  Not how she thought he saw her.  He moves on feeling rejected, inadvertently, by his own careless thought process.  What happens if he acts on that misunderstood rejection?

 

What if, in the grander scheme of things, someone believes another’s ugly thoughts to be his or her own?  The greater offense or true wrong done is to keep them believing these were his or her own passions.  The implication to this alone disturbed Perrie deeply.  Once she'd dealt and come to terms with who and what she was, she concerned herself with its misuse by those who possessed and shielded the same inherent abilities.

 

It was during the Awakening Years that The Interpreter (who worked in the same corporate surroundings as Perrie), risked the increased danger of knowing her and established a harmless working relationship.  In his own initial naivety, he believed there was a great deal more to this woman than what normally met one’s eye.  There was a grace about her that he found refreshing if not obviously appealing.  She didn’t mess around with small talk or gossip and welcomed a challenging conversation.  

 

Though she’d been weaned on head games, upon her Awakening they were noticeably more serious.  As her awareness of the lies that enveloped her grew, so did the games. All orchestrated to force her into making mistakes, trumping her up; anything to discredit and/or demean her. 

 

Over time, Interpreter saw for himself the varied end results suffered by those getting too close.  As often enough, some were suicided.  Just the same, he admired her tenacity and offered her subtle reassurance and vague acknowledgments.   All denied her by those losing control of the known future.

 

As their seemingly platonic relationship grew, Perrie rarely challenged when his words fell out of sync with what she sensed.  She let him say and lie what he wanted to anyone else.  He usually had his reasons. And out of respect, she left him to them.  She understood, quite well, the factor always centered on self-preservation.  Though he was not so unlike the many others she knew to be inextricably linked to her future, his distinction was that of never verbally let on that he knew of such things.  But that tends to happen when you play both sides.

Once among the Allies and her writing became more prolific, he never even acknowledged reading of himself in her published work.  Never let on that he knew she had written of his fate.  He was the perfect player.

*** 

After ducking behind one of the supply trucks to catch their breath, Khy-Lin nodded to Dellasseea to move on.  In a crouched run they headed for the next available cover.  When a sudden burst of enemy fire erupted from the darkness, the two following after them, stopped to engage.  Khy-Lin pulled at and pushed his charge ahead of him.  And Dellasseea headed for a pile of sand bags and jumped into the fox-hole just behind.  The instant Khy-Lin landed inside, he found a solemn-faced Lionheart. The look on Dellasseea’s face that said Interpreter’s wound was indeed mortal. 

Reading the anguish in her eyes, Lionheart knew every moment would be precious to her.  He nodded to Khy-Lin to move out and quickly went about retracing his steps.  Along the way, he confirmed the Duster that hit the truck behind which The Interpreter hid and the explosion that sent shrapnel and jagged fragments of sheet metal everywhere.  Unfortunately, his would not be the only mortal wound suffered this night.

Blessings, LL Abbott

Follow me to Facebook

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

Exercise in Daily Prompt



Writers Write

As the FirstBorn Daughter stood enveloped in the vast darkness, she became aware of the approach of that which she imprisoned; millennia ago. She sensed his presence encircle her, and she showed him no fear. He'd allowed her this brief moment of freedom, to stand in his realm. Yet knowing herself vulnerable she stood ever true. The Primal Element of Void could absorb her into his nothingness in an instant. And none would be the wiser of her ever having existed. Yet, she bore him no malice. It was not in her to despise. Even though it was she who stood imprisoned now.

Blessings, LL Abbott

Follow me to Facebook

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

Death of a Human Heart ~ The Foridden World Chronicles ~ Puzzle Pieces -- Part One

Death of a Human Heart

                                                                                        by L.L. Abbott

The Forbidden World Chronicles

Puzzle Pieces ~ The Warring Years

[WARNING: Some strong language] 

by ~shadagishvili

from his eyes came 

subtle acknowledgement

from her eyes falls

gently his peace

As Eternity’s Historian long ago penned, these were now the final days of the Forbidden World’s Last Ground Battle.  But once won—as the Allies still hoped to duplicate—no one left to this world will remember it ever having been fought. 

 

Having successfully completed an extensive cross-country advance, Dellasseea N’Syis and the Allied Forces, were positioned mere days from what they trusted to be the vicinity of the Tunnels of Life and Death.  This time the FirstBorn Daughter must push her privileged feelings aside and close The Doorway forever.  There will be no return to this world; no coming through what is to be left of its boundaries. 

 

Rain fell hard upon the ground the night Aukasaunon used it to his advantage; when he lead the army that raged the first time the Allies fought their way home.   It is the same rain-laden night; but Gaallon now heads the army that just launched two rounds of anti-aircraft missiles into their encampment.  Simultaneous explosions sent up yellow-orange plumes into a moonless sky.

 

Never expecting others to fight the necessary battles for her, Dellasseea could always be found at the front of the skirmishes.  Flanked by two of her guardians she cried out suddenly and shrank to the wet ground.  Pivoting slowly, her back hit hard against the cold steel of the armored vehicle behind which they took up point.  With an M21 still in her hands, she sat quiet.

 

“Are you hit?” Khy-Lin questioned over his shoulder. Weapon still at the ready. 

 

When she did not respond, he turned in concern.  “Lady…” 

 

Mud splattered when he kneeled down quick alongside of her.  He looked frantically for a sign to indicate whether or not she’d taken a hit. Lionheart kept to his position but looked back to question her safety.  Khy-Lin raised his free hand but said nothing as he watched her eyes stare seemingly at nothing. Listening.  Ringlets of wet hair lined Dellasseea's face, and with the exception of the flutter of her eyelids hit by the occasional raindrop, she sat motionless.  

 

“What?”  Khy-Lin stressed it more as an impatient statement, rather than a question.

 

Slowly, Dellasseea moved her head back and forth. Her lips parted; just barely. Not knowing how to answer.

 

“Perrie!”  Lionheart called sharply. 

 

His eyes remained fixed on the frontline.  And his familiarity barely registered as her breath became more labored. 

 

“We don’t have time for god damn twenty questions, Woman…” he continued as enemy rounds tested their marks.

 

“No …” she replied in a heavily drawn breath—trying to decipher who and/or what she felt, “no one— is answering my...” 

 

‘What the Fuck’s going on back there?’ Lionheart VoiceThought in anger. ‘Something just took her heart down.’

 

“Roth!” Khy-Lin took him to task sternly.

 

Though they had skilled code-talkers among them; technological communication was tricky and difficult to maintain without detection.  Tech-heads were valuable and well protected on both sides. Those with the power of Voice-Thought, knew to use their ability sparingly.  Contrary to what the masses perceived as being able to ‘read another’s mind,’ it's nothing truly more than a non-physical language.  It’s simply the ability to hear what another is saying; not knowing what another is thinking. Which is an entirely different matter altogether.  Unfortunately, it is also an open channel her enemy had no shame using to their advantage.

 

Dellasseea looked to Khy-Lin knowing only that something had just gone very terribly wrong.  Both sensed a sudden overwhelming concern— but shared no pain from anyone bound directly to her heart.  And no one replied despite her inquiry. 

 

Knowing Khy-Lin had also inquired—though with decidedly more discretion—Dellasseea looked him hard in the eye; just in case she missed hearing a response directed to him.  When his eyes and head fell away, she rose from the ground.  His infamous reputation for not being able to keep certain of things from her knowing made it certain that no one had.

 

“Roth.”

 

Lionheart turned abruptly when he heard his name from behind.  Unless he was remembered and/or recognized from before the warring years, most didn’t know him by any other name.  She was the only one he allowed to use his given name.

 

“I need to know what’s wrong.”

 

Her urgency was undeniable. And he knew he’d regret the developing notion, but he couldn’t refuse her.  Lionheart rarely left her side.  By her order or request only, would any of her personal guardians even consider doing so— and this didn’t seem the time or place to leave his charge to Fate.   Then again, he knew she wouldn’t let the matter rest.  Then again— he also knew better than to discount his own growing sense of Deja-Vu.

 

She would be safe enough.  It’s why he and Khy-Lin chose this spot.  With the exception of the Dusters that just whooshed over-head, they’d only taken small arms fire for the last two hours.  Not even an RPG.  They'd rigged the military-issue hum-V with additional drop-down armored side panels.  At their backs stood an old radio station built of reinforced cinder block.   Khy-Lin acknowledged Lionheart’s hesitation and nodded for him to go; indicating he could see to her safety.

 

With that, and a run of his fingers up and through his tousled hair, taking it away from his face, Lionheart ordered his charge to, “Stay put!”  Pointing a do-what-I-tell-you finger. “Do you hear me?”

 

Dellasseea didn’t question the determination behind his instruction, but offered instead, “I don’t die here, Roth!” 

 

He knew how easily just one thing could change the course of the future.  “Like knowing that’s of any comfort to me!” 

She appreciated the worried look on his face and gifted him with what she could form of a smile.  His long, dirty blonde hair fell back into his eyes and he shook his head to ward-off  "those cow eyes" of hers.  Watching his every move, Lionheart rushed through a check of his rifle and then he reached for an extra magazine.  Stuffing it in to a field pocket he then ripped apart the hook-n-loop straps to tighten his well-worn flak jacket.  As he finished, he bent to pick up the M-47 Dragon, and handed it over to Khy-Lin. 

Hesitating as he stood, Dellasseea gave orders for him to, “Go!” 
 
With another run of his fingers through his hair, Lionheart turned and edged his way past the heavily armored duce and-a-half, to make his trek back toward base camp. Dellasseea rose to watch after him.  Only when he jumped down and disappeared into the rain washed ravine did she begin to distinguish the moment, and know that the first of their troops that he came upon, he'd send back here to take his place.
 

Blessings, LL Abbott

Follow me to Facebook

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

Lost and Found -- The Forbidden World Chronicles ~ Puzzle Pieces

 

To onlookers and acquaintances she was merely moving from the large house, deeded over to her as a result of the divorce, into a smaller rental where she would now pay a much higher rent.  Leaving only a few knowing her ex-'s name had never been removed from the deed; that she had been handed a fake, and he had just forced her off a less-than-prime piece of real estate.

 

To Perrie Stevens, she was being forcibly relocated, for all intents and purposes, from a large and desolate prison cell into a much smaller one. And one that she found as equally-uninviting.  It was also too close, by her newly-guarded measure of comfort, to those who live quite well due to the substantial compensation amassed; for the services they’d rendered over the years.  For their orchestrated manipulation of her every single naïve move. 

 

From the moment of her delivery into their parentage, Perrie’s every action was intensely scrutinized; with end-results carefully considered to insure their continued control.  This, of a child they would forever have to pretend was their own.  Throughout her childhood, her every thought and belief was tempered to the will of those paying for and profiting by the overall deception.  That all changed once she was handed off into the arranged marriage that ended, only of recent, after years of a long and dramatically drawn-out divorce.

 

Once Perrie opened herself to the harsh realization of her Awakening, she recognized those around her for what they were.  As she fleshed out the many lies that surrounded her, she quietly watched with her own great interest as they lost their respective control.  The one thing none could ever really do--- was break her will.  Perrie’s spirit had remained always her own.  Always the ancient truth they contrived to keep hidden; even from her. Especially from her.

 

The eviction notice to move came as a complete surprise and was meant to catch Perrie off her guard.  She’d been given only a matter of days to get everything packed and to vacate the premises.  It appeared her ex- had won again.

 

In haste she managed to pack those things that meant the most to her and got it all moved to the all-too-conveniently empty house; right next door to those whom had seemingly loved and raised her.

It was mid-Summer, and the day of the move sweltered in heat.  Once all the furniture and boxes where in their respective new rooms, and her family and hired movers gone, Perrie locked the doors, wanting nothing more than to be alone.

 

She walked through the maze boxes, down the long hall and into the Master Bedroom.  She pulled at the twin mattress, leaning against the wall, and let if fall to the floor.  Completely exhausted, Perrie searched for the sheets and quilts.  All she wanted was to make up a temporary bed for the night. She would grapple with setting up a new household in the morning. 

 

The following afternoon Perrie sat, prioritizing and mapping out which of the rooms she would take on first.  As she rose from the couch to go brew a pot of tea, a sudden fear rippled up her spine and through her entirety.  Then came an overwhelming realization—with a rather shamed clarity—that she hadn’t given a very small and uniquely gifted item, even the first of her thoughts during the frantic pack to move. 

 

Perrie's heart beat fierce and rapid as she tried to think where it was the last time she had seen it.   Aside from actually having been years, the day she brought it  home, and the last of which was the night she wore it, both were as clear a memory as if it had been the weekend past. But then, there has been much to keep her well-distracted.

 

'Think, think, think--- ' Perrie stressed.  'The most logical place to look first … if I even packed it at all … would be …'

                          

With her heart still unsettled, she made her way to the back of the house; to the bedroom she had designated all her office and studio-related items.  The room was stacked three and four boxes high throughout and there was little room to maneuver. Perrie had absolutely no idea where to begin her search. She stood immobilized, Frozen in place.  Paralyzed by the thought of losing something so extraordinary, so other-worldly and out-of-time. 

 

Then, almost as sudden as the fear in her rose, Perrie was Touched and soothed by a lost mother's voice, 'Its purpose has been served, My Daughter.'

 

Perrie closed her eyes.  After drawing in a long deep, she exhaled and allowed herself to be Absorbed.

 

'The bead did what was intended of it to do.' Annessau declared.  'Calm yourself.'  Her ancient voice stressed.  'No-o-o-o p-a-a-a-i-n."

 

The words echoed through her.  As her shoulders fell hard and relaxed, Perrie let Annessau envelop and console her.

 

www.junipermountain.net

'Irryilay...' Perrie VoiceThought the name softly.

 

She had been gifted his memory during the early days of her Awakening; but-- was left to remember his name on her own.  She remembered only once she knew it would be of a musical quality. 

 

'Irryilay...' she called again.

 

Not that he would answer. He was gone to her now. Destroyed for the selfish purposes of capturing, that which Dellasseea N’Syis so loved, and reseeding in the Past of a world long-declared Forbidden.  Done with the intension of pacifying her; of pushing her toward accepting a  dark compromise lain before her.  

 

And now, she lives imprisoned and all that remains of Irryilay is…

 

It was only upon returning from a buying trip—meant to build on her artisan and beading inventory—that Perrie sat in her studio and opened one of the little plastic zip bags, and let fall in her hand a beautifully hand-carved horn bead.

  

As she rolled it around between finger tips, letting the light catch at the natural textures Perrie marveled at the grey-brown and ivory swirls of satin-like sheen, unexpected emotions emerged and tears began to well.

 

Her eyes widened and remained fixed upon the bead.  Independent of the feelings overtaking her, her fingers stiffened and slowly began to fold over and sheath it.  No longer focused on the bead itself distorted shadows veiled her vision. Perrie pulled her now fisted hand to her heart as a long-forgotten meadow came into view; just behind her eyes.

 

She could see Irryilay's herd foraging for sustenance while he stood watch on the rise. She felt the approaching doom sweep down upon the unsuspecting.  Perrie heard bow strings release and the whirl of their arrows through the air. And she flinched when she heard the mortal cries of targets being met.

 

Perrie could hear the war-cries of the aggressors, Irryilay's frightful bugle and the nets thrown to ensnare him. She could see the steam of his labored breath billow in the air as he was felled and removed of his great horns. She watched the crimson blood pulse thru his wounds to flow and mingle with the trodden grasses and earth.  

 

Perrie felt the tears roll down her face as the vision began to fade and her fist tightened when she felt the last erratic beats of a now long-dead heart.

 

With the realization of her own shallow breath, Perrie knew that she possessed all that remained of a creature with whom she once walked.  Whose many offspring she had cradled in her arms.  The lord of the great Wapiti herds was laid to such waste so as to capture and steal away the few that would be seeded deep within a forbidden world’s past. All in order to appear as having been here all the while.  Done with the knowing the species had been one of her favorites of the Old One's creations.  An elaborate attempt meant to keep her true self happy.

But now, she had absolutely no idea of this wondrous miracle's whereabouts. Only but a handful of the most powerful, knew its true being and worth. What it meant in the grander scheme of things. Those few who know the future was predictable only because it already happened and is currently being relived. The same who fought to keep the one small bead from being strategically placed in a warehouse of countless others, to be found by the one woman who needed to find it, in the hope it would help her to remember her past. And the reason she is now imprisoned. 

The woman who now stands fearful of having lost such an unknown treasure and is once again guided to find it. How ironic. Something that couldn't possibly exist, a thing come from a world unknown to this one, is now lost.

 

'It is here, My Daughter.' Annessau VoiceThought. 'M-o-v-e y-o-u-r-s-e-l-f.'

 

Perrie wiped her cheeks dry and opened her eyes to slowly survey the room. It was merely a matter of deduction.  She simply had to find the box that contained her earlier designs.

 

After a number of boxes were lifted, shifted and opened, Perrie found the white flat oblong gift box.  As she pulled the textured jewelry box free of the moving crate, she heaved a great and heavy sigh of relief. A sense of euphoria coursed through as she removed the lid and folded back the layers of faded tissue paper.  Before her nestled the hand dyed handspun raw silk stranded necklace she'd designed around Irryilay's horn bead. As she pulled it free of its trapping, Perrie took another deep breath and pulled it close to her heart.

 

‘Served its purpose though it may ...’                           

 

It is not a thing she is willing to lose; this treasure from another time and place. A window to a fractured memory. She guards its existence well.  A possession that remains with her to this day; that awaits its return journey home.

 

NOTE: See the Companion Piece: Lord of the Herd Sires

Blessings, LL Abbott
Follow me to Facebook

Excerpted storyline from The Bead [WIP]

Caged Heart--The Last Heartbound / The Forbidden World Chronicles ~L.L. Abbott
Copyright 2015 All Rights Reserved -- Current Draft

Current Draft -- In its Entirety

I forgot about this page.  Click the image above and you will find the prologue in its entirety.

Blessings, Laura

Follow me to Facebook

I Write Like -- Analyzer

I write like
Arthur Clarke

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Blessings, Laura

Part One ~ The Awakening -- Another Snippet

He waits
alone and encaged
in a flesh not his own

Waiting
to be Touched
and hear his name VoiceThought

from Within

~Journal Entry: Dellaseea N'Syis
~Date: Third Era -- The Awakening Years
~Displacement: Second

 

Comments and/or Questions are welcome.

______________________________________________

Blessings, LL Abbott

Follow me to Facebook

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

 

Contemplation and Old Wounds

Never mind the reason.  But a Dream died years ago.  I put it to rest.  I packed it up in boxes and placed them in darkened places.  A closet. Under the bed. In a hutch drawer [which hasn't been opened in years], and then I mourned.  I mourned its passing into obscurity because it had consumed so many years and waking hours of my life.

Handwritten notes.  A manual typewriter. An electronic word processor; with Spellcheck.  And then came the advent of computers.  There are file folders and notebooks.  Index cards and floppy disks. CDs-- all brimming with visions of a grand story of Love and Contempt. Bargains and Death. Past, Present, and Future.

I was determined.  Stubborn. And relentless.  And then seemingly overnight-- it was all for naught. The wound of my decision ran deep.  Tears flowed. Wounds scabbed and time passed. And the fading glimmer of a once ever-present Dream soon gave way to other creative endeavors and concerns of Life.

It saw a brief revival.  But all too soon the shadow of its former self fell victim to nagging notions of relevancy and, "Why bother?"  And during the last two year's worth of concerted Spring Cleans, there were more boxes and even darker places of a more permanent storage.  Its final rest assured.

And then last week, I scrolled upon an innocent post on Facebook.  

To which I immediately replied, "I did once---- Now it all has taken a back seat." 

A subsequent PM conversation ensued, and ever since, my mind has been all a dither with the possibilities.  What I couldn't have fathomed though, that following afternoon, was the rush of pain [and tears] that followed as I gave credence to a Facebook Friend's words of encouragement.  The wound itself may well have healed.  But the emotions behind its cause was ever as strong.  

So here I am, once again, contemplating whether my storyline has relevance. Am I up to the challenge of seeing it to fruition?  Am I capable of readdressing its full intent. It's more than a handful, and means a huge refocus on my part.  And I've found a peaceable contentment in my current endeavors.  

And then I scrolled upon another picture quote this morning.  This Facebook Friend asked, "What dream(s) are  you working on?"  Mine? Has, for all intent and purpose, long been no more.  It's Awakening is fragile at best.  And it struggles to see the light of day.  Yet evidence of its existence grows. There is energy to its cause. But I struggle with my own resolve. Or would it be better stated as Fear? 

It was no easy decision to see such a dream to its rest.  Yet neither was it easy to pique a new-found interest.  I've shed new tears over the recent days, and wrung my hands with concern.  There is much to consider.

And then, as Fate might have it, my eyes rested upon one more quote; giving credence to my strife. The Forbidden World Chronicles was a Dream that consumed a huge portion of my life.  I can honestly say, it nourished my soul.  But is its time long passed?  Or still yet to come?

Much to think on. 

Blessings, Laura

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.
You may also leave a Comment in this blog post.  

~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.

______________________________________________

Blessings, LL Abbott

Follow me to Facebook

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

 

GiveAway Alert!

Visit Gleeful Things for a chance to win:

Giveaway! Win A $50 Gift Card From JoAnn

Blessings, Laura