It's been about a week since I last posted and I'm like so sorry. Nanowrimo started a few days ago and plus I've been working on my MC Chronicle article. I should be finished with the article by Monday. On my novel, Blood Revenge, I finished my cover. I wish it was a real person on it, but oh well. I've reached 2,746 words as of right now. My goal is 50k. I have a far ways to go.
Excerpt from Chapter 1
There was a Raven in my dream again. I can’t tell anymore if it’s the same Raven, or a different one. It’s been there though. It’s like it is watching me. Why? I wish I knew. All it does is sit perched on a tree branch, fly over the black skies, or just watching me with those beady black eyes. Does it have something to tell me? Is it a bad omen? I’ve never had a dream that reoccurs like these past few ones. That Raven, he really freaks me out. I’m starting to get this feeling that it’s watching me. I see shadows, winged shadows, gliding across the added mauve wallpaper of the hallways. Ramona told me it’s probably just my imagination. She always knows. Sometimes, it scares me how much she actually knows.
It’s a mother thing. “I got those 2 eyes in da back of my grey hairs, little Bonita,” Ramona reminds me constantly. I can never get away with anything. Sneaking out? She’s always at the door. Bad test grade? She has it taped to the fridge before I even go home. I hate it. Then, sometimes, I like it. She’s always there when I need a shoulder to cry on, or having problems with work.
My kind, we’re very few after the Black Death. Humans call it the Bubonic Plague. Ramona believes that it was sent by the Holy God to rid the earth of all his “demons” that had been created. I don’t see why he would want to destroy us. We were once his prized children, perfect in all ways fit. We glowed when men couldn’t even master fire. We just… had issues with staying pure, so we fell. I don’t remember much of it all, nor the reason I fell. I remember that my sister, Aria, was slayed by his plague. My brother and I, however, were unaffected up until the last few months. Word came of my sister’s death. It snapped the already rickety bridge I shared with Deimos. After that, I must have fallen ill of depression, or of the Black Death, because I remember waking up to the sound of a bustling city on the rise, 548 years later. All the knowledge I should have retained, all the memories I should remember, were gone.
*Keep On Dreaming*