Only the prologue, but, here goes...
She was floating in the water, a lone figure, gently rocked by the lolling waves. Starlight filtered through dirty black clouds, the terror that had cast her from ship and safety. That same damp evil had wiped out most of her shipmates with one well-placed bolt of lightning. Her eyelids flickered open, revealing dark orbs that reflected the starry sky beyond the storm clouds. She realized her back was sore, and, after sitting and staring at the clouds, she forced her tingling limbs to awaken. The girl tried to turn over, but the smooth, damp wood of a door or plank met her cheek.
A chill wind blew across the wide expanse of ocean, cutting through the denim jeans and jacket she wore. Her body shivered in response, gooseflesh rising on the back of her neck and on her arms, bare beneath the jacket. She clenched her teeth tightly to prevent them from chattering while she desperately sought a way out of the water, onto land, onto anything that could keep her alive. The wind shuddered around her, and her shivering grew worse. Then, all was black.
The next time she opened them, grit had caked along the edges of their lids, had stuck to her nose and mouth. The girl sat up, heaved a wracking cough that sent loose particles of sand flying from her face. The fine sand had caked itself into her clothing, now stiff from the salt in the water, as well. The sun was peaking over the horizon, blazing a brilliant orange-red that tinged the fluffy white clouds with pink and gold. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to her feet, clinging to a waving palm for support and comfort. That was how Rialla Juroni found herself on the Isle of Deceit.
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I know I start lots of stories and such, but I think this one has something to it. I've been getting better about passive sentences, and so far, there aren't any, which is more than I can say for the first few paragraphs of my other stories *L* And I like the beginning to this. I don't think I've used a tragedy as the beginning for any of my others, yet.
A chill wind blew across the wide expanse of ocean, cutting through the denim jeans and jacket she wore. Her body shivered in response, gooseflesh rising on the back of her neck and on her arms, bare beneath the jacket. She clenched her teeth tightly to prevent them from chattering while she desperately sought a way out of the water, onto land, onto anything that could keep her alive. The wind shuddered around her, and her shivering grew worse. Then, all was black.
The next time she opened them, grit had caked along the edges of their lids, had stuck to her nose and mouth. The girl sat up, heaved a wracking cough that sent loose particles of sand flying from her face. The fine sand had caked itself into her clothing, now stiff from the salt in the water, as well. The sun was peaking over the horizon, blazing a brilliant orange-red that tinged the fluffy white clouds with pink and gold. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to her feet, clinging to a waving palm for support and comfort. That was how Rialla Juroni found herself on the Isle of Deceit.
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I know I start lots of stories and such, but I think this one has something to it. I've been getting better about passive sentences, and so far, there aren't any, which is more than I can say for the first few paragraphs of my other stories *L* And I like the beginning to this. I don't think I've used a tragedy as the beginning for any of my others, yet.