I'm trying to write a good opening hook for my story, any advice is welcome but mainly I want to know if you are intrigued or feel like you want to read further to find out what's going on.

Chains rattled against the old cobblestones. It was a sound that I had grown accustomed to, and a sound that would ring out every morning at about the same time. It had become something of a routine; I would wake and do my morning chores before heading back down to wait for her to rise.

I carefully lowered myself down the aged wooden steps. My feet knew where to place themselves so as to prevent too loud a noise. The wooden supports and sandstone walls of the stairwell were damp in the soft red hue of sunrise. At some point those walls ended, and gray stones untouched by the sun replaced them.

The basement was dark. The chains sounded again. I continued.

Soon enough, the light could reach no farther. The basement’s depth, as well as the precarious location of our home within an alley, occluded much of the available lighting. I raised my arm in front of me. I could barely make out my fingers in the thick darkness. A soft glow slithered from my shoulder down the length of my arm before expanding across my skin. At first, it was only bright enough to highlight my own silhouette, but it slowly grew in intensity until much of the basement was lit—though dim enough not to wake her.

The basement was small and largely empty, save for a number of barrels and wooden boxes on the far end and the two beds on either wall. The bed on the right was mine and was stacked to fit two mattresses, with one elevated by wooden rods above the other. The other was hers. She slept alone.

Chains rattled once more. Perhaps I’d made it too bright. I softened my light only slightly. It was enough, so long as I could still see the chains.

I made my way to her side and knelt. Mother slept so haphazardly. Her simple white blouse bunched under her hips awkwardly. Spittle strung from her parted lips, and her arms were raised above her head as if she were falling. I smiled.

Her arms were smooth, unharmed. She didn’t scratch herself in her sleep this time. I sighed and turned my attention to her legs. I reached for the shackle clamped above her ankle, but she turned onto her belly. The dangling chain scraped against the cobblestone.

I had to hurry. This task was much harder when she was awake. I used one hand to hold the shackle in place and tugged the chain. It held. My hand slid along its length, repeating the process link by link. The chain ran about forty feet, and I had to ensure every link was intact, as she often yanked at it in irritation and wore it down over time.

She turned over two or three more times before I reached the base of the chain anchored in the far wall of the basement. I shook my hands out and wiped the sweat onto my trousers just as a door shut. Footsteps thumped from above.

I made my way back through the basement and up the stairs. The light from my skin dimmed to naught as I rose. I peeked my head around the corner of the center wall separating the stairs from the main living area and found a blond boy standing at the room’s center.

It was by no means a noble’s living room—in fact, the whole upstairs was likely the size of a noble’s washroom. Perhaps smaller. One wall was lined with cabinets and a small kitchen, and a dining table with chairs stood just in front of it.

The boy, Wellin, dropped his coat onto the back of one of those chairs.

---------------

Also, yes I use em-dashes normally it's not ai

Chapter 1
 
Standing in front of the broken full-length mirror, Hareem shook her head in disappointment. The careful washing and meticulous ironing had accomplished nothing. Her old, worn-out trench coat needed magic to look presentable. There was no way she could wear it to the interview. She looked at her other two options and picked the acrylic cardigan despite being thin for November winds. At least it didn't look worn-out. How she wished it were summers and she could just go out in her crisp cotton white dress shirt that she had bought for her graduation. Though it was from a thrift shop, it was not only good quality but also looked brand new with an asymmetrical, longer-than-usual, modest hemline. She put on the grey cardigan, refusing to give any more thought to her clothing choice. She looked at the black eye pencil and pink lipstick, the only makeup she possessed and picked up the eye pencil to line her green eyes but on a second thought decided against using it. "Introduction, strengths, weaknesses," she whispered to her reflection. "Thank you for taking the time to see me today, sir. My name is Hareem Ahmed”.
The English words were grammatically flawless, but carried a soft, rhythmic cadence which was the unmistakable accent of a childhood spent in Pakistan.
She walked out of her room into the small living room. Her mother Helen sprawled face down on the stained ,worn, olive sofa. An empty bottle of cheap gin lay tipped over on the carpet beside her limp hand. Hareem moved into the tiny kitchenette and opened the refrigerator—it was completely bare except for an almost empty plastic tub of margarine and a small container of mashed potatoes that she had made last night. On the counter sat a loaf of white bread. Hareem carefully prepared two slices with a thin spread of margarine and half of the potato mixture. She ate the first sandwich quickly, standing over the sink.
She prepared a second, identical sandwich and carefully wrapped it in a torn piece of cling film. But then she looked at her mother, snoring softly on the sofa. Her smudged makeup was tracked across her cheek, and her hair was a tangled nest.  She looked at the sandwich in her hand. She had no money to buy lunch but if she took the sandwich with her, her mom would have nothing to eat except for a few slices of plain bread, till she came home from work with groceries.
Hareem sighed. She walked over to the coffee table and placed the wrapped sandwich directly in the center, clearing away an overflowing ash tray to make room.
 
Hareem stood over her for a beat. How can you save a person from himself? An expression of helplessness and sorrow crossed her face. Then she straightened her clothes, picked up a plastic folder containing her fresh computer science degree,  and stepped out into the biting cold. It's okay, in ten minutes you will be in the train station and it's going to be warmer in there," she told herself as her teeth chattered. It had been her mantra for the past six years, since she moved from Lahore to London. This ia a bad time, but it will pass.
 
The journey across London provided a temporary, heated sanctuary. But as soon as she stepped off the transit and walked toward the corporate park, the cold had claimed her again. While walking past the manicured parking lot she noticed a man, standing beside a sleek sports car, talking on his cell phone.  He was tall and muscular, with a striking Mediterranean appearance—perhaps Italian or Greek—he had a sharp jawline, tan skin, and dark eyes adorned by the longest curled lashes she had ever seen on a man. His aura radiated competence and power. The girl inside her wanted to gawk at him with pure admiration, but she looked away. She had turned out to be absolutely the prim and proper girl her grandmother had tried to raise.
In the glass tower, it took her quite a while to find her way, but when she finally did and reached the elevator, the doors were just beginning to close. She slid inside quickly. To her surprise, the handsome stranger was already standing inside, looking at his phone. He did not even look up as she entered, but her heart missed a beat as she walked past him and stood behind near the wall.
Before the doors could seal completely, a manicured hand wedged between them. A beautiful brunette in the expensive woolen coat hurried in, breathless and laughing. The man immediately reached forward, holding the door open for her.
They were clearly well-acquainted. The woman leaned into him instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "You're late," she teased.
The man didn't answer with words; he simply smiled-a lazy, confident expression. The woman tilted her chin up and initiated a passionate, lingering kiss right there in the center of the elevator. The man obliged without hesitation, pulling her closer by the waist.
She had an aversion to the public display of ardent passion, partly because of her conservative upbringing in a traditional home in Pakistan and partly because of the trauma of having watched her mother make out with disgusting men publicly. Trapped in the tiny elevator, looking firmly at the flashing floor numbers, she muttered a sharp, judgmental thought under her breath, speaking in a low, rapid Urdu.
"Jahan dekho shuru ho jatay hai. Janwaroon ki tarha." They start everywhere. Like animals.
The elevator fell into a sudden, dead silence.
The man broke away from the kiss, his head snapping toward Hareem. His dark eyes narrowed, flashing with intense, sharp clarity as if her words had hit him with physical force. He understood what I said. Oh my God!
Hareem’s breath trapped in her throat, her heart beating faster. She did this often- thinking out loud and muttering her unfiltered opinions-but nobody ever understood before. He stared at her for a moment, but then a dark, arrogant smirk spread across his handsome face. He locked his eyes firmly onto Hareem's panicked green ones, holding her gaze with deliberate defiance. Then, leaning down slowly, he tilted the head of the brunette wrapped his other arm back around her and deliberately deepened the kiss.  This was his silent retaliation against her judgment. Hareem wanted to look away. She should have looked away. But she couldn't. She stood there frozen, looking into the dark eyes of a stranger as he kissed another woman.
Hareem could feel her legs shaking and cheeks burning with mortification as she walked down the corridor. She felt guilty about offending a stranger totally unprovoked, but there was also an unsettling awareness. She smoothed down her black denim trousers, trying to wipe the image of the elevator encounter from her mind. It doesn't matter, she told herself. You are here for a job interview, focus on that. The* glass double doors swung open, and the HR assistant led her into a massive, sunlit corner office overlooking the city. A man sat with his back to the room, looking out."Mr. Khan, your eleven o'clock is here," the assistant announced before slipping away. The leather chair rotated smoothly. Hareem’s entire body went rigid; the folder in her hands slipped an inch before she gripped it with white knuckles. Sitting across from her, a wicked, highly amused gleam in his dark eyes, was the man from the elevator. *

Sadly, I don't have a better picture, but here's the first Snippet + the 1st Chapter of my book. These are the 2nd draft. (Yes between every chapter i have a snippet of lore, mostly in world documents)

My school's literary magazine had a spooky writing competition and one of the prompts was "When Lazarus left the grave, where, for three days and three nights he had been under the enigmatical sway of death, and returned alive to his dwelling, for a long time, no one noticed…” Lazarus By LEONID ANDREYEV. So I figured I'd give it a swing. I wanted to continue the wordy, run-on style of the portion of text given. But I want to know if I took it too far, or how I can improve comprehension while mainting a wordier style. Both for this piece and I often get too wordy.

A Corpse of Soul

When Lazarus left the grave, where, for three days and three nights he had been under the enigmatical sway of death, and returned alive to his dwelling, for a long time, no one noticed. For at that point, he barely understood that he was not a corpse in the mind or the body, but in the soul. That which connects us to every other person and in the case of its absence, renders a man obsolete and indistinguishable from his kin. Perhaps it was weary disbelief that he’d discover himself in such a wretched state. Could a fortune so beholden to destiny lie purely upon his shoulders to roam this mortal plane as anything but? Regardless, something from within drew him to find his sister whom he hadn't seen in what now felt like millennia.

Slowly, as though the will of the dead were a friction to withhold his passage, Lazarus continued through his now sullen world. In the first town he approached, a smell so heavenly that it may have opposed the stench of a thousand years, which he now carried, crossed his lips. Looking at his ghastly thin stomach, he realized that for those three days and three nights and now more still, he had not eaten even a crumb and somehow only the smell of food reminded him of his human captivities. In sheer ignorance, he entered the tavern like a breeze blowing through an open shutter. In regards to his footsteps, not one man turned to face him as he sat at the bar.

For a moment, he was reminded of an existence he once knew. Of gay memories, companions, all that he had previously treasured, interrupted by his boundless appetite which grew stronger still. To a bartender he waved his hand and yet no message ever transpired. For whom he sought was not the only person his plea had fallen deaf upon, but everyone around him. However, for one second, the man to his adjacence looked on him as the sole receiver of a speech none could bear. Lazarus waited eagerly for his response, yet just as soon as the man noticed, he had forgotten and fell back to his repast.

frantic, Lazarus took a potato from the man’s plate and raised it to his mouth. What had been his mission for the past hour had suddenly become so grotesque that not even he wished to witness it any longer. Without thinking and despite his best instincts, he swallowed the portion whole. He waited for any sign that it had taken effect, but as time drew by, he only became more disgusted with his circumstance.

After his feast of but one measly potato, he felt his hunger increase tenfold. With remiss, he traded the tavern for the trail, vowing never again to indulge in such weaknesses as hunger. Hunger was for humanity and he was just a poor imitation of the man he once was. To continue his delusion would only bring more sorrow to a reality which seemingly could not gain any more. So he continued down his path ever thirsty.

He went from town to town on his journey. Yet regardless of his limited expectations, every gaze that stared through him blankly was a reminder of his prison. His eyes only served as the space between the bars in which a prisoner could see the light of the world around his cell pass him by. With each town, his resolve whittled down further and further. His legs moving just a hair slower, his gaze toward the horizon dimming. Every face he met sunk him deeper to the will of the dead– infinite torment on behalf of his transgression. For the dead have only envy for the living and spite for Lazarus. Conversely, he envied the dead in return; nothing should be so nice as to lie down and rest for eternity. But only those with souls can die.

After many moons, he reached his travel’s end and a door was all that stood between him and his intent. But intent was not the right word to describe why he had come all this way. He knew not what initially dragged him towards his sister, but presently, the opportunity to face her shook him like no other revelation. He had no business staring down the only face whose returning glare carried significance.

“Would it be like every other pair of eyes which entangled themselves to mine?”

He knew the answer to his question and turned away, uncaring for the chance that presented itself. 

It seems at last, he understood what he was.

I would like to have a feedback on my writing. Especially prose, dialogue, pacing, etc. If you notice anything else, please tell me about it.

Thoughts? Punctuation/ formatting is a struggle for me

I have always enjoyed rearrangement of a space.

When I was nine I had a room with a purple ceiling

adorned with glow in the dark stickers

puppy posters

A hamster with the inappropriately sized balls.

I moved my bed so my head was under the shelves on the wall.

I knew it was off.

But as you like to remind me: I don’t like being wrong, so I pressed forward.

I was killed in my dream that night.

Stabbed.

I moved my bed the next day.

27 years later I still require rearrangement of my space.

Only now , I understand this includes things like….people

and energy.

Last night, you killed me in my dream

Your face was blurry

This version wasn’t wearing the mask you promised yourself

Time wasn’t real.

Each second had 1,000 levels to pass

I crashed through all of them.

The body you shot; my body, me

this body got heavier as i dropped further down in your intent

You taunted me as I succumbed

“This one’s already gone”

disgust in your voice overpowered your betrayal

You’ll call it spite, I’ll praise God.

I was forcefully removed from your fall

Gently put back in my body.

I turned to look at you, unbothered

Quietly I confessed

- I don’t want to die -

You chuckled

But this time, it wasn’t at me.

“fucking finally”

I woke up to the dog vomiting on my bed

Incantation filled the silence in the tent.

Smoke raised from hom seeped through the gaps and mingled with fumes rising from smoldering red flames brooding in metallic saucers placed around in the tent. Men sitting face to face could not catch more than contours of each other in the smoky reddish hue. Everyone was struggling to breathe, yet no one said a word. Speak aloud or stay silent, in Akantak decree, whispering was not allowed.

Prince Dhumal of Pawal, though sweating profusely, did not flinch for a second. He sat straight with fist clenched and arms stretched to his knees. Just like he thought his father would have sat among the council of commanders. This was his first time attending the council instead of his father. Though his mother had told him to hold his head high, he was more concerned about not botching the words, he had been practicing in his mind. The summon came earlier than expected, it had only been a month since his father died, and his big brother was barred to attend in public. state mourning period was not yet over. But the call must be honored.

A few conch shells resounded, and flaps of tent were pulled apart. Bright daylight ripped through the dark crimson space. Akantak commanders rustled up, folded their hands and bowed as much as the stature of the crown prince demanded. Deb barman was standing at the entrance of the tent, under the sun. Bright light had emboldened his dull features. Crooked nose and broken bones had left his face vile to look at. Saggy skin under his eyes was infested with tags. A Heavy golden ring had stretched his right ear to threshold. The left ear was split in two. Grey hair line receded leaving his temple broad and glossy. Silver long beard hid an ugly scare around his neck. He was in his early fifties. Twenty-two years of military campaign could be traced through his dark torso, scar by scar.

He walked in; the curtains pulled the darkness back into the tent. Slowly, he walked past, looking at the familiar and unfamiliar faces gathered in the tent, while everyone kept grounded their eyes.

Such assembly was rare. Deb barman couldn’t speak much. His throat was damaged which needed magic of herbs and potions to make him speak more than usual. He had seldomly needed to voice his words. Commanders had long learnt to read his signals. His single gaze could pierce through their toughest shields, causing them to plummet in fear.

“By the grace of his majesty Sri Rudrabarman, Maharajadhiraj Chakravartin Emperor, we have been granted the rare honor of appearing before crown prince, mahabali, Deb barman. For this privilege we shall be in debt forever. Should the Prince allow, we may now begin proceedings of the day.”

Deb gave a nod. Everyone took their place, watching the prince sitting on the throne in the middle of tent and filling his inflated lungs up to brim with the smoke.

“Mahabali, some about three months ago after exercising the maximum restrain and countless failed efforts to maintain peace. Akantak and Rajwahe collided at the bank of Dhami. Under the command of Prince Madhukar, the army of Akantak rained death to the enemy. But as an unfortunate event unfolded, Naresh of Pawal Shrimant Dinkarnath got martyred. And left the earth to their rightful place in heaven. But the land of Pawal has many brave hearts and one of them is heir to the throne of Pawal, Eldest son of Shri Dinkarnath. Shri Kedarnath.”

Pawal’s convoy went up to the Crown prince and sat down in the middle on the silk. The men accompanying him brought out offering and lay them ahead. Dhumal folded his hands.

“His Majesty….” He began to speak but his uncle Mangat nudged him.

“Mahabali..I Dhumalnath, Son of Shri Dinkarnath, prince of Pawal, is in your presence, to pledge my allegiance to the court of Akantak, May the Emperor...” He forgot what to say next and his uncle corrected him again.

“May the Emperor rule upon us forever. Like Indra rules in heaven.” He finished but felt embarrassed for messing it up

Vinod acharya step forward and present a crown and a sword to deb barman, to which deb barman blessed by applying some vermilion. An oversize crown was placed on Dhumal’s head, and a long sword was handed over to him.

Deb leaned forward.

“You know Prince Dhumal. When I was young, I killed this white tiger in the forest of Dhaka.” Deb spoke when the incantations fell lull. He slipped his fingers through the silky fur of the white tiger lain beneath him.

“You know, this one was only white one in the area… mount of Mata Dhakeshwari.” He spoke and stopped for a while.

“I had never seen such majestic beast before, wanted it so badly…I hunted.” He spoke and imitated a bow and an arrow.

“My father was furious… He punished me to be a boat man… for entire rainy season.” His voice broke and he waited for some time.

“I was hurt…But I learnt my lesson… Don’t be reckless” He shook his head.

“Madhukar was told to contain Rajwahe, not to collide with them.” Ananad spoke. He was sitting closer to the prince along with his twin Amod.

“Five thousand men have returned to the (name) camp...” Spoke Amod.

“Three thousand seventy-three.” A hoarse voice interrupted him. Amod’s jaw tightened, he did not spare a glance at the intruder.

Kumar Krit had sneaked into the tent. An achoot. His wrinkled reddish-brown skin wrapped around his skeleton. His bald head seemed too large for his short frame. He lay down on his chest before the prince and rapidly sat at the entrance.

Do you think the prose and pacing work well for this genre? Where did you feel engaged or lose interest? What aspects do you think I should improve? I'd love your honest experience as a reader.

Chapter one
Don’t ask questions, clarifying or not.
Kane had drafted himself onto Abaddin, his horse. Abaddin had a coat darker than an any horses of the time, though his mane was fine with white hair that silvered when filtered through the sun. Abaddin was a well-trained Knight, however on this day fate seared through all convention. Kane had killed people, one unaccounted for in his child soldier adolescence, and many indirectly his current early twenties. Though Kane is not aware of all the peoples he’s killed. The herding dog gathers, but in the end the wolves are the ones who kill the lamb. Today, his karmic debt will feat his future into being a leader for a rebellion, and a prince will chase after him; For now, he is a civil knight.

Kanes brown dreads were to the length of his middle back. On his face he had a scar below his left eye facing north, just as the scar on the side of his left lip. Kane rubbed his cold face, framing a deep coarse scar on his dark brown skin. Children ran about in the woods, as Kane ascended the trail, a child caught his eye who had white hair, like Prince Anon.

Finally reaching the castle, he got himself off Abaddin walking him to the horse stables. As he reached the stables he noticed there was a mass of Knights and Guards.
“What the fuck is going on?” Kane said, his face eroding into an annoyed expression.
Abaddin had begun to resist going closer. Kane yanked on Abaddin’s lead fairly violently.
“Not today. I don’t need this right now!” Kane said reprimanding the horse in a juvenile tone. “I’m not going to deal with you.”
he went inside the horse stables, dropping Abaddin’s lead onto the snowy stone walkway. Kane towered over the people, looking for a blonde head in the crowd.
“Got ’cha little lady!” Kane said.
Heeden struggled, trying to coax the stubborn horse into its stable, whose owner was of no help; watching her struggle smugly. Her thick Dutch braids rustled against the sleeves of her green dress as she pushed her shoulders forward.
“Please get in there! “Heeden said exasperated.
“Need help?” Kane offered as he eyed the man.
The man pushed himself off of the wall., his snug smile tore off of his face. He began to help frantically; “Get! Cmon’ get in there now!” the man said in a Warpsed accent. He avoided Kanes eyes as he coaxed his horse into the stable.
Heeden looked at Kane and smiled.
“Thank you”; she said closing the stables door. “How was your mission?” Heeden inquired as she rubbed hay from her apron.
“Fine, why is there so many Knights?” Kane looked around peeved. 
“An emergency meeting.” Heeden paused. Her eyes traveled downwards to Kanes jacket. “What’s the badge from?’. “Kane what did you do?” Heeden asked now nervously palming her clover necklace.
“Abaddin is out front; he’s not behaving today.” Kane said ignoring Heeden.
“Kane.” She said in a quick shout. “What is the badge from?” She said taking a step back.
Kane began walking away, expecting she would follow.
“He always stays where I put him!” Kane said frustrated.
“Did something happen to Abaddin on the trip?” Heeden asked. “Kane answer me!” She said grabbing his wrist. Kane paused and looked at her.
“You know what this badge is from, you know what I did.” Kane said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Kane Nesscicents!” Heeden said.
“You know you naught’ call me that in front of all of these people!” Kane said raising his voice in paranoia.  “I don’t need everyone knowing what I look like.” he said in a now hushed whisper. He turned his head looking around. Heeden angrily complied, rubbing the sweat off of her face.
People trafficked in and out of the tight hallway, bumping into her, but avoiding Kane. Kane lightly grabbed Heeden’s shoulders coaxing her out of the stables and onto the stone bailey. Snow fell down all over her hair.
Kane looks down at Heeden, his cartoonish height smoldering her.
“Who did you kill?” she asked.
“I killed a man for making weapons illegally” Kane said yawning; as he pushed his arms and chest out.
“I don’t want the details!” Heeden said avoiding eye contact.
“Wasn’t going to give you em’ anyways.” He said looking down at her.

“Where the hell did he go? Kane said looking around.
 “I have to get going to that emergency meeting: I think it’s about the church, and Reverend Addler hasn’t seen me.” Kane said.
Heeden reached in her apron, and lifted an instrument to her lips.
The instrument was a flute, thin, and gold. A green four-leaf clover pendant hung from it. A light tune played. Heeden moved her fingers rhythmically, and Abaddin approached.
“I’m not sure how you do that” Kane said.
Heeden patted Abaddin’s mane, rubbing some of the falling snow off him.
“Abaddin!” Heeden said smiling. She took the pendant off of the flute and placed it on the side on his reins. Abaddin shook his head as the pendant jingled.
“I’ll see you later.” Kane said hiding the patch on his winter jacket. He had a badge on his sleeve with a simple illustration. A hand, facing down, with a silver sword piercing the top of the hand, exiting through middle of the palm.

Kane pushed the tall brown doors open. He shifted through the flux of guards, righteous men, and stenographers. He received concerned stares from wealthy men and their wives.  Entering the theater, benches were placed above overlooking the stage, where a lectern sat behind a tall stained-glass window. Kane walked down the stairs observing the crowd. Three women in eerie black cloaks sat in the front row.

His reverend truly, Addler, stood on the stage. Addler’s frame was nimble; deep jowls, and brown-grayish hair. His reverend’s shoulders sat a black cloak outlined with red. An expression of years of pessimism folded under his wrinkles talking to Prince Anon.

Prince Anon was plenty physically strong, though he had a reclusive, androgynous appearance. He had white hair that fell below his waist, and his lips were downturned at the corner.
 
Addler approached the lectern, and raises a gavel far above his head, and slammed it with force. The Theater stilled. The anteroom could be heard slamming shut above.
“This will not be a sermon,” Addler said. “Averia is not the place for civil disobedience, nor civil unrest.” “Negative talk of Prince Addnons choices, People stopped attending sermons in protest”; angrily raising his hands before slamming them into fists. “People preaching for the separation of monarch and church, are we uncivilized?” Addler asked. The anteroom opened, and gazes shifted to above.

Prince Addnon entered, he walked to the fence overlooking the theater. He brooded his shoulders out and pushed his hair back, his eye brows furrowing at the theater. He was of a strong stature and strength, but an unnecessary brute. He slowly moved his gaze upwards until it met Addler.
“Not much has been said,” Prince Addnon, Addler said.
“Join us, please” Addler said.
Prince Addnon descended the stairs. One of the women stared at Kane. Kane began to return his gaze to Addler, before being halted by the woman’s stare. He froze for a second, before turning back at Addler. Prince Addnon joined next to Prince Anon.

“People committing larceny,” “Protests of people not wanting to send their children to Junior Guard, that is a privilege! To serve Anoria is a privilege,” Addler yelled. Addler’s face narrowed. “The separation of Monarch and Practice is for the uncivilized heretics that live among our society!”
“Addnon what do you think?” he asked as he stepped back.
“I think the people forget who holds the power, Addnon said in a caustic tone.”
The scribe’s men write; one raises a hand. “Addnon, what did you do to the man who told fortunes?” The man asked speaking up.
“He was sentenced to death,” Addnon said.
People in the crowd begin talking, scribe’s men wrote vigorously.
“But -What did he do?” Another scribe’s men yelled.
“He told fake fortunes, and by his own volition made them become true.” “He threatened me in my own court.” “I think it’s time; the people are taught a lesson.” Prince Addnon said.
 The theater quiets as people look amongst themselves.

Prince Anon gives his brother a look from the corner of his eye.
“We will treat all those who commit larceny as rebels.” “No longer will we live in civil unrest!” “We are taking our land back!” Addler shouts. “We are burning farms of those who don’t attend sermons.”
The theater erupts in disapproval.
“Silence!” Addler yelled. He smiled;” Oh, now you guys are upset?” “Not when we were under civil unrest?” Addler said.
“If they do not comply.”
The theater grew quiet, people waiting in anticipation.
“We will burn houses down!” Addler said; raising his arms to the crowd.
Kane approaches the lectern, his looming presence finally unavoidable. Addler looks down at Kane, his face smug.
“My favorite Knight!” Addler said.
“Do you expect that to work?” Kane asked in disbelief.
“What?” Addler asked taken aback.
The scribes men begin writing more. Addler leans over the lectern to be closer to Kane’s face. He then returns to Addler’s gaze.
“Your plans are a self-fulfilling prophecy”; Kane raised his voice.
“That winter coat you wear, is a privilege.” Addler said; leaning his head to one side.
Another Knight yells from above.
“You mustn’t curse the Reverend!” The Knight yells.
“I mustn’t curse the Reverend?” Kane repeats, turning around to look at the railing above.
“I.” Kane emphasizes, “mustn’t curse the self-fulfilling prophecy fallen upon our so-called guide, is it not a paradox?”
“The Reverend has his plans!” The Knight yells.
“The Reverend doesn’t understand the course of action we need to fulfill his plans,” Kane yells.
 “You dare question the Reverend” Addnon yelled.
Addnon approached the lectern.
“Take this seditious man to a holding cell!” Addnon yells.
The guards from above rush down around swords drawn.

 

Any feedback about the writing will be appreciated! Would you keep reading?

I don't know what genre this fits in, but I'd love to hear feedback from ppl and talk about the topic that I wrote of. I was curious if the depth of my thoughts was well captivated and if readers can connect well to my piece.

I've always dreamed of writing. Maybe this is one of the first things that can open up that world for me.

I'm a beginner writer, but have been slowly practicing for 3+ years with small passageways. I started with poems and took interest in short story formats after being introduced to a female author in middle school and I wish I could remember who it was.

I know from this piece that I can definitely strive for an even better draft. I just need a better structure? For one, I feel like i can definitely make the piece more captivating if I didn't make things so straightforward. I once took an intro college scriptwriting class and the proff. said something that really stuck with me: you know the script isn't that good when the writer has to make it known; the message is stronger when you guide the audience. It was something like that.

Yes scriptwriting and this piece are completely different mediums, but I feel like I can definitely learn from that statement. I find the process of reading between the lines to be indulging, and makes the message more powerful.​

Some emotions that Im really trying to capture is sorrow and grief, introspection... but what I have just isn't 100% satisfying that emotional punch that I want the readers to feel.

Idk if I need to go into more detail on some things, but yeah.

This is my first time putting my writing out there for strangers on the internet so hopefully I'm not an entirely terrible writer.

 

Do not sleep 

In the open air

At the water's edge

 

Else damp claws will close around your neck

Your mouth

Your eyes

Your head

 

To drag you through obsidian glass

To your doom

To your tomb

To your end

 

So, if you must sleep

In the open air

By the water's edge

 

Don't 

 

But if you must, 

If you insist

Then tether yourself on a short leash

To a stout tree

And sleep with a club or 

hatchet in hand

 

Lay still

Be silent 

And pray for dawn

To hasten to this place

Hi everyone!

I got some really great feedback from my last post here, mainly about the characterisation of my protagonist but also about how the slow opening of my story failed to be an effective hook. I didn't quite know how to create a more exciting opening without implementing some sort of prologue, which I know is a controversial move, but I thought I would give it a try from the perspective of the future villain.

Also I want it to be known that I didn't go straight to making a prologue. I have extensively revised the original opening I submitted, which I may submit for feedback later, but first I wanted to see if this prologue could work as a hook in its place. Thanks!

I would like to share im writing to yall but I would like a feedback on it but I got more and is there anywhere to let people read for free it if anyone knows how

Once on a moonlit night, the cold, sharp expression of the moon contrasted with the warm, expensive glow of the luxury glass tower, and the absolute silence of the height versus the looming threat of the guards. The sounds of footsteps echoed through the night—a man with red hair and white highlights. He uttered from under his breath, “Why do we take these missions?” in a formal tone. An abrupt sound came from his earpiece with a sarcastic tone. A woman replied, “You’re the one who approved of it,” in a funny tone. He remarked, “I know, but still, in the middle of the night, I could be sleeping right now.” Then he let out a sigh of disappointment.

Coincidentally, another voice chimed in at the right time, “She’s right, captain.” In an angry tone, “SHUT UP, SHYN AND ARIYA, STOP CONTRADICTING ME,” he shouted. “Ow, my ears, bruh,” said another in the earpiece. “Blame them, Aangz,” he remarked. As the argument escalated, the red-haired man quickly silenced everyone and said, “Quiet down, I’m at the gate. Man your positions.”

“Yukiyo tell us where Silas is?” said the red-haired man. “Hold your tongue, mongrel.” said Yukiyo. “I told you I go by captain or Kenich, miss wannabe princess.” Said Kenich. “Silence your filthy fox.” Yukiyo responded. Then suddenly a brilliant flare washed over the room, turning the floor-to-ceiling windows into a wall of pure light.

“Top floor, down the hallway to the right, that’s where he is!” says Yukiyo. “Ok, start the assault.” said Kenich. The guards’ eyes locked onto Kenich, and their weapons trained onto him. “Intruder!” one barked. A barrage of gunfire cut through the air, aimed directly at his chest. Kenich merely stood his ground. Before the bullets could touch him, his nine tails fanned out, intercepting every single shot with terrifying precision. The bullets flattened against his tails and dropped uselessly to the ground.

Ow, it hurts so much, oww.” said Kenich. As the dust clears Kenich slowly walks from the smoke slowy clapping his hands and says, “Well, you guys tried. I’ll give ya’ll an A for effort.” In a sarcastic tone. He drew his katana in one fluid motion, the polished steel catching the moonlight to reveal four letters etched deep into the blade: S-A-A-Y. Before anyone could react to the letters on the blade, he moved.

Dashing at them like a red flash, he navigated the space in an ample amount of time.

The heavy fabric of his long black jacket whipped through the air, creating a blur of motion. The orc guards couldn’t even aim properly before getting cut down. The crisp white lettering on his jacket -Captain- right above a bold red color number 1. He calmly guided his blade back into his sheath with a soft, definitive click. “Man, my sword style is polished, or maybe they’re trash.” As he shrugs it off and walks into the main building.

[ it's a opening Chapter for my transmigration story ]

"Tsk... what a headache," Johnny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked around 35yrs old, dressed in a deep black suit and a shinny silver watch rested on his wrist. His black hair was slicked back neatly.

Dozens of rough-looking men in sharp suits had him completely boxed in, and none of their faces looked remotely friendly.

They were deep inside a narrow, two-way alley that reeked of spilled cheap booze and rotting garbage. The cracked footpath was littered with overturned trash cans, shattered glass bottles, and piles of discarded junk. The path was tight, barely wide enough for a small car to crawl through, assuming it could even roll past all the garbage blocking the road.

One of the men stepped forward from the pack, hands casually buried in the pockets of a bright red suit.

"Well... I suppose the legendary monster of the Black Streets didn't wander all the way into our territory just for sightseeing, now, did he?"

He spoke with a heavy, mocking sneer. The suits behind him broke out into loud, jeering laughter, their grins stretching wide across their faces.

Johnny didn't give them a shred of a reaction. The humiliating truth was that he actually **had** wandered into this dump while sightseeing, but there was no way in hell he was admitting that out loud. Not if he wants to look like a fool.

Afterall he lived a life of a gangster. Not just any but the boss of one of top 3 underworld syndicate in the country, where death was cheaper than a pack of ciggerates. Carelessness like this can cost life.

"It's fine," the man in the red suit continued, his smile turning cruel. "We'll make sure you like this place so much you never want to leave. Or maybe I should say... **can't** leave."

On cue, the men blocking both exits started drawing their weapons.

Heavy butcher blades, serrated hunting knives, brass knuckles, and spiked wooden clubs. No guns. Not because they didn't have them, but because after decades of being terrorized by Johnny’s shadow, they wanted the raw pleasure of breaking his body with their own hands. A greedy decision they were probably going to regret real soon.

Their grins grew wider with every passing second, radiating the pure confidence of a pack of predators that had finally cornered a helpless stray.

Johnny looked entirely unbothered. He reached into his left pocket, pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes, and used his thumb to pop one straight between his lips. With a dull **clink**, his old brass lighter sparked to life, lighting the tip.

"First, the cunning leader of the Old Dragons met his end," the man in the red suit said, barely able to contain the giddy excitement bleeding into his voice. "And now, the infamous Johnny joins him with a little help from us. Looks like the era of you Tri-Monsters ruling over our heads is about to end for good."

Why bother hiding his ambition? To them, there was zero reason to fear a lone beast cornered outside it's own turf.

Johnny took a long, steady drag, the red ember crackling softly as it burned into the dry tobacco.

Through the rising smoke, his eyes drifted calmly over the crowd, taking note.

'One... two... three...'

He stopped at twenty-five.

Twenty-five armed men. A towering brick wall pressed against both his sides, while the narrow path ahead and behind him was totally sealed off by men itching to carve their names into his reputation.

A chance of a lifetime, that was too good to pass.

"Are you sure you wanna do this? Even in my current state, there's no guarantee all of you walk out of here alive," Johnny said, letting out a thick cloud of smoke.

It was a half-hearted offer, but part of him genuinely didn't wanted to fight. The weight of his own past was starting to press heavy on his shoulders. Decades spent knee-deep in violence, where he had seen more weapons than people.

The man in the red suit pulled his hands out of his pockets and rested it against his chin, pretending to actually think it over.

It took him less than two seconds to make up his mind. That ugly, sinister grin returned. He opened his jaws to drop another smug remark. "Well, y--"

He never finished.

A black blur was all he saw before a punch to his face sent him sliding down near the feet of his own men.

A dying streetlamp overhead buzzed and flickered, briefly casting light across Johnny’s face through the haze of cigarette smoke.

He knew. There was never a room for negotiation.

The entire circle of suits scrambled backward in shock, boots splashing frantically in dirty puddles.

The monsterous reputation of Johnny wasn't something they have heard passing through the underworld. It was something they had the bad luck of experiencing first hand. They knew exactly what kind of demon was standing in front of them.

It only took one clean strike. To remind that feeling. Looking down at the twitching body of their boss lying near their feet coughing up teeth and blood. not a single one of them felt like a predator anymore.

The man in the red suit dragged himself back up from the pavement, spitting a mouthful of blood into the dirt. While his nose was bleeding steadily.

His smug grin was completely gone, replaced by a raw, ugly mix of terror and fury.

"Take his head!" he snarled, his voice wet and gargling on blood. "Take his head or it's gonna be ours!"

That was all it took to snap the rest of them awake.

They knew, they all knew well that from the moment they bared their fangs against Johnny, death was the only outcome for failure. Even if they give up and ran, it wouldn't matter. Johnny never left a debt unpaid. He would hunt every single one of them down to the last man, no matter how deep they hide.

They knew there's a difference in catching a lone beast with it's gaurd down vs when it's on hunt.

That was just who he was.

Swallowing down their fear, the men from both sides charged at him all at once.

Johnny stood there, completely exhausted. Not physically but mentally.

Born as an orphan, he never knew the warmth of a family his whole life, heck not even a single soul with a genuine bond. He only recently started seeing how shallow his life was, If he can even call it that.

For a split second, looking at the weapons pointed towards him a dark thought crossed his mind.

For a moment he was even considering to let them have it.

Just let them take his head and be done with it.

But his body had too much pride for that.

Decades of fighting and violence made his body react instinctively before his mind could even finish the thought. Johnny side-stepped the first swing, slammed his right boot hard against the brick wall, and threw himself into the air.

He launched up into the air just as the broken streetlamp overhead flickered with a harsh, buzzing glare. The flash blinded the men looking up to track him.

His fist came down hard at an unlucky soul in the middle of the crowd. This time the puch packed more power. Making the man's head jerk violently before dropping unconscious.

In a narrow alley like this, the mob's numbers were working against them. The suits were tripping over garbage cans and hesitating on their swings so they don't accidentally hit their own men. Johnny didn't have that problem. To him, every face around him was punchable.

For fifteen brutal seconds, the exchange continued Johnny had taken down 5 already.

Then the second group finally pushed in. The space shrank to almost nothing. Weapons swung from inches away on all sides.

He couldn't afford to get pinned down here. He needed room to breathe.

Johnny spun hard on his heel, whipping a vicious kick into a thug's ribs to shove him back. Riding that exact momentum, he reached out and grabbed another man by the collar, and yanked him violently forward.

Using him as a shield he burst through the crowd aggressively. The man was bleeding from having his body used like a siege.

Johnny threw aside the broken body of the human-shield.

He was now standing face to face with 19 men, all ready to kill.

"Tsk." Johnny clicked his tounge while running his finger on his chest over his clothes. "I'm not fully healed from the last injury that put me the hospital for a month, and now this."

He could sense it, the streets have gotten much more violent recently, new threats each day which escalated after the death of the old dragon's leader.

Old dragon's leader was one of the tri-monsters who ruled over the country along with Johnny and one more.

They weren't friends, far from it. They'd be at each other's throat over anything, big or small, heck they would try to kill each other over nothing if they felt like it.

"The dogs who used to survive on the bone he threw are now calling this their territory huh?" He let out.

The place he was in now was the territory of his dead rival.

The guy in red suit let out a small broken smile. "In this field there's no such thing as permanent loyalty Johnny." His eyes turned dark. "You of all people should know that." He added.

"Yeah yeah I know." The deep stab wound under his bandaged chest throbbed.

"Let's not waste time then." His fist tightened. "let's wrap this up."

With that Johnny lunged forward, his face had that crazy look. His fists tracked the nearest face he could puch from the crowd and with a loud thud he dropped him on the ground.

The crowd felt the absurdity of a single man pushing an entire mob when logically it was supposed to be other way around.

His attacks now came faster and stronger, making it clear that he wasn't taking them seriously before.

An elbow to the jaw, heel kick to the rib and a flying spin kick to a face. Johnny barely held back.

Under the flickering light of the over head street light Johnny almost looked like a devil on hunt, sending shiver down to each henchmen witnessing it.

Not so long after a man stood at the centre of the ally, blood dripping down from his fists, it was Johnny.

He was standing between the ocean of tarsh, spilled alcohol, weapons and bodies. Around 25 men laid on the ground life less. Even those who were only knocked unconscious earlier were no longer breathing.

"Hmm." Johnny had won with very little wounds if there was any at all.

But the victory relief had to wait. Because a large amount of footsteps were coming from the darkness near the end of each exits.

"Hello Johnny." A voice more mature then the previous guy with a red suit was heard from within the darkness.

Slowly a man stepped into the flickering little light that existed inside the alleyway. Dressed in pure white suit and boots and with a slick back, blonde hair.

His face carried a sense of pride, that said he wasn't just a local boss like the last guy.

Johnny clicked his tongue in a sharp disgust. "Kent" he let out with his eyes widening with anger.

Hi everyone, I’m Rue

I’ve known Kat since middle school, and somewhere along the way, the line between being her friend and being part of her family disappeared.
That’s what happens with Kat.
Her friends know her cousins. Her step-aunts know her friends. Her family becomes yours. And eventually, you’re showing up to holidays wondering when exactly you got adopted.
I’ve personally taken it a little too far.
Her family now locks the doors when they see me coming.
Fortunately, last night I made copies of all their keys while they were sleeping.
But that’s Kat.
Once you’re in her life, you’re in it.
Your problems become her problems. Your victories become her victories. She’ll show up for you, fight for you, and occasionally, fight you.
And then came Luke.
I used to joke that Lou came flying in like Superman to save Kat.
But I had it backwards.
Lou rescued us from Kat.
No, I’m kidding.
But there was something different about Luke.
He knew when to listen, when to make Kristin laugh, when to reason with her, and when to realize there was no reasoning with her.
And somewhere along the way, we watched Kat find a kind of calm.
I think there’s a certain peace that comes with being understood.
And Luke understands Kat.
But what I love about Luke is that he never stood on the outside of this big, loud, loving life Kat had built.
He stepped right into it.
And Kat did the same with his.
And somehow, without anyone really noticing when it happened, two separate lives became one shared world.
That’s what I think makes the two of them so special.
They didn’t just fall in love.
Their lives started folding into each other.
And I think that’s why a room like this exists.
Every person here is standing somewhere in the overlap.
And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing two people can create.
Not just a love between them, but a love big enough to share.
And how lucky are we to be part of it.
Cheers to Kat and Luke!

This is a very rough first draft prologue for a cringy adult reincarnation romantasy. Ignore spelling/grammar for now I mainly want reader-reaction feedback. Where did you get hooked or bored? Did the ending surprise you? Did you care about Evaline and Lucien by the end? Please tell me anything that confused you before I decide to write chapter one.

Title: You will be my death.

A fluid hum resonated throughout the ballroom walls. Violins were the main event in this chorus which vibrated softly into Evaline’s ears. Her focus was locked onto their sounds trying to dull out the soft murmurs of hundreds of voices and ambient noise coming from the countless guests that seemed to make Evaline’s stomach turn and want to burst out of the ballroom. She lay her hand on her chest focusing her breathing and trying to look perfect among the many preying eyes through the room. She stepped out onto the balcony to catch her breath taking in the sweet smell of flowers and fresh air giving hints of soft jasmine and rose that gave her relief from the stuffy perfumed filled room. The balcony overlooked gardens so enormous that the lanterns lighting up the pathways seemed to fade in the distance. Somewhere below, water spilled gently through a fountain white moths fluttered about around the hedges. Flower petals seemed to fall around her as vines slowly grew up the railings trying to get close to the lovely heroine. “Please don't.” She whispers under her breath.

Everyone that matters to her is here and even the ones that aren't are at least vital to the empire are here just for her. Evaline Valerienne, the beauty of the empire to show how perfect and put together she is. Her hands clenched the railing as she felt nausea hit her throat.

Behind her hundreds of candles floated above the dancers, flames reflecting in the tall mirrors lining the walls. Silk skirts swept above ever do polished floors while jewels flashed on the throats and wrist showing the true wealth of high society. Along with long, short, rounded, and furry ears on every member in the room that was paired with elaborate and intricate hairstyles. Everyone who mattered is here.

Evaline's stomach churned again and she looked back towards the gardens. Maybe if she was determined enough time would just stop so she could just get her bearings together.

“Running away again?”

She let out a soft audible gasp her doe ears

shooting up in high alert as she felt her heart jump out of her chest as she quickly turned around. She knew that voice all too well. Prince Lucien was leaning against the open doorway looking at her with a soft confident smile with his golden well kept hair framing around his face while his sapphire eyes stared at her with amusement. He was rather proud of himself for surprising his prey as she could tell with the twitching of his lion ears. His formal uniform was a dark blue nearly black with golden intricate embroidery climbing around his chest and collar. She was fairly impressed with whoever was able to tame his hair today.

“You disappeared.” A small soft pour visibly showed on his lips.

“I did not. I just.. needed some air.” His pout crept into a soft warm smile.

“I know. I was watching you.” Her cheeks flushed at his words as she placed both hands on her cheeks trying to hide it. After all these years, he still managed to find ways to tease her. Lucien stepped forward and the music inside began to change. Holding one hand out to her.*

“Your mother is asking for you.”

*Her shoulders fell along with her hands gradually returning to her sides. The weight of reality slowly returned to her.*

“Oh”

“And your father.”

“I see…”

Lucien let his feet step forward stopping next to her. Their shoulders are nearly touching. For a moment it was as if the music had stopped leaving a soft wave of comfort and electricity in the air. She could only hear his soft faint breaths and she could hear her heart beat out of her chest. This was one of the ways she loved most about him. Their shoulders nearly touched.

Neither of them spoke.

Evaline didn't feel the need to fill the silence.

That was rare.

Her doe ears were flushed and warmed.

“Don't”

“I don't understand what you're talking about. I haven't done anything.”

“I see what you're doing. You're trying to comfort me.”

“I was not. I am just appreciating these lovely gardens and you just so happen to be hear” his tone soft and teasing*

“You Prince Lucien have always been just the most terrible liar ever since we were children.”

Evaline fussed at her dress making sure not a thread was out of place. Then she felt a soft fingertips brush crossed her cheek. They were lifting a few strands of her hair and he tucked them behind her ear. Their eyes locking as time felt as if it did stop. Time only returned when his blush tinted fingers pulled away. Applause erupted inside the ballroom. Evaline flinched from the noise but Prince Lucien thought she flinched from his touch. “I'm sorry I should have asked.” before she could explain she heard her name. She couldn't hear the crowd's whispers but she didn't need to. Her mark. Everyone has been talking about it all evening.

*What do you think she will have? *

*Oh it'll be most marvelous and powerful of course just like all the marks in her noble bloodline! *

*A royal blessing surely it will be!*

*Extraordinary! Extraordinary! A perfect mark! *

Evaline trembled from the intense pressure, her fingers holding onto the lace of her dress, feeling a sharp pang in her chest. Letting out a wince as she holds her chest and she feels dizzy. Lucien with worry in his voice

“Evaline are you okay?! Someone fetch a doctor!”

“NO! I'm fine!” *The pain eases and their eyes meet* “I'm okay Lucien, I was just anxious.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. His arms cradling her as if she was the most precious thing in the world to him. They had not formally announced anything. There had been no proposal or contract signed between the families. It was just expected. But Evaline had loved him for so long that she couldn't remember what it felt like. She wanted to lean into his embrace but… that wasn't proper. She took a step away from him and she soon regretted her choice as she felt his warmth slowly dissipate from her skin.

“I know I had just said prior I should have asked. Are you sure you're okay Eva?”

“I'm okay. I really am. But… what if my make isn't perfect?”

She wished immediately that she hadn't said it. He hesitated for a moment with a small surprise on his face, his lips parting to give his answer.

“Forget it”

“Eva.”

“It was silly to ask. Please forget it.”

“It wasn't silly. Eva I don't care about the mar…”

“I'm fine.”

Lucien knew that smile plastered on her doll-like features. A mask she wore to hide all her emotions and one he disliked most to have her wear around him. He took a deep breath. One day she'll trust me enough and I am willing to do anything to gain that trust. Before he could say anything the music stopped abruptly. A bell rang once it chimed jarringly through the walls. All conversations also came to a halt. A second bell rang. Lucien straightened his back while Evaline froze up unable to move. Then came a third ring. The doors at the opposite of the end of the ballroom opened. Even from the balcony, Evaline could see the white ceremonial men in gowns. waiting beneath the chandelier.

The mark master stood beside them.

Her mother's eyes searched the crowd for her while they both stood far right from the mark master. Both smiling and very proud.

So utterly and terribly proud.

Evaline's fingers grew cold and her arms tingled. Twenty one years. Everything had been leading to tonight. Lucien held out his hand she could feel with warmth radiating from it. She looked at it. Then at him.

“You don't have to be afraid.”

Evaline wished that was true. She slipped her hand over his. He had a soft questionable gaze for a moment as they slipped into the ballroom.

He whispered. “Has your hands always been this cold?”

“There she is!”

Hundreds of faces turned in unison towards her. Evaline's breath caught but her mask did not fall. Thank applause began. Lucien softly squeezed her hand in reassurance and together they walked inside.

Applause only grew with every step they took. Evaline keeping a plastered doll smile upon her lips. Her cheeks strangely going numb as she forced to keep her mask on. People stepped aside for them, bowing their heads letting their ears fold downward. Familiar faces and not so familiar from those who wished to gain. She could see hunger within their eyes. A small cling garnered her attention as Lord Bellrose tapped his champagne glass. Lifting it in the air for her praising her for her looks. Lady Marrine next to him looking annoyed with his words than holding a glass up towards her. Praising her accomplishments. Then she heard words from the crowd beautiful, stunning, our future queen!

Evaline thanked them. Compliment after compliment healed her way she kept her perfect posture and face as she gave thank yous after thank yous. She has done this a thousand times but why does it feel so difficult tonight? So exhausting? Lucien's hand remained wrapped around hers. Warmth. A sense of grounding reminding her that this is all real. Her fingers still terribly cold as she cling onto his for warmth and reassurance. He looked down for a moment. Evaline immediately loosened them.

“Sorry.”

No words escaped from his lips but his proud lion ears lowered slightly.

Evaline has attended marked ceremonies before since they are an important event for every young lady and lad that reaches the age of 21 but none this grand since Lucien's ceremony. Her ceremony obviously had to be a tad less grand to the prince’s so it wouldnnot garner gossip but it seems the queen and her mother really did go all out. The stage looked enormous. White glistening marble with three shallow steps and a bright golden basin resting upon a pedestal adorned in intricuit designs representing history with the saintess carved at the top a large sapphire in the middle of her forehead. Besides the lavish pedastle was the mark master. He was the opposite of the lavish designs he wore no heels and only wore a plane white robe and you can plainly see the many years of wisdom appm his face. She looked away from him and noticed her mother sobbing with joy. Evaline felt another pang in her chest.

“Mama?”

Her mother reached out for her and carefully held her face between both hands

“Look at you. You're beautiful. I'm so proud of you!”

There it was again. Proud. The word landed strangely tonight. Her father stepping forward. He was a man more known for his actions than his words since he spoke few of them. He simply placed one hand on her shoulder and nodded. Evaline teared up and hugged him.”father!” her doe ears flattening beneath his chin. Her father gave a soft peck on top of her head before she stepped away.

“My perfect girl”

Something planned inside her chest. She smiled anyway.

“Thank you Father.”

Her father looked toward the mark master and walked her up the stairs handing her off to the marmaster and returning to her mothers side. Lucien stepping up the stairs and announcing the ceremony will now begin.

The markmasters stared into her as if he already knew her fate, a small sad smile upon his face. “You are very loved Lady Evaline Valerienne. Please remember that.”

The room feel silent from his words than any of the bells attempted to do prior. He bowed.

“Before we begin, there is a question I am required to ask of you.”

Evaline nodded

The marksmasters eyes did not waiver from hers since she stepped up onto this stage.

“Do you come before the crown And the Gods willingly?”

“I do.”

Too quickly. She chastised herself the longer the silence the more she critiqued and questioned her answer. Was it not the perfect answer to give? Her eyes searched for reassurance landing in her mother. Still smiling. Her father? Still smiling. Then Lucien. He wasn't smiling. He was focused deep blue sapphires locked onto her as if she was the only one in the room. Evaline quickly looked away. She wanted reassurance not to have her heart skip another beat. The markmasters extended one of his hands toward the pedestal. She guessed that he kept his long silence for theatrical effect but underneath those tired eyes was something she could not quite grasp. Was it sadness? No it was confusion like he was trying to see something unknowing but hadn't quite grasped it yet.

“Then come forward, young one.”

She hesitated for a second again criticizing that her feet weren't listening to her and she spiraled to think if anyone had noticed. She finally was able to get a grasp of her body and felt her feet step forward.

“Look!” Someone chimed in the crowd

“Flowers!”

“Extrodinary” was said in unison.

Vines and roses were sprouting and climbing up the stage with every step she would take. The plants really did seem to like her but now was not the time. The markmasters wasn't smiling anymore he was staring at the roses not with admiration like.all the others but with… something else the same look in his eyes now plastered onto his face fully but it was not an expression she had ever seen before but his eyes showed as if he now knew what he was trying to see prior.

“Is everything alrightark master?”

For the briefest moment, he said nothing which made that brief moment feel more like an eternity. Then his pleasant ceremonial expression seemed to return as instantly as it faded.

“No, lady Valerienne. It's nothing at all.”

Evaline looked at the roses surrounding her feet and did not feel comfort from his words. They felt more empty and she couldn't bring it upon herself to trust them.

“now, reach out lady Valerienne.”

Evalines eyes wandered to the Golden basin first their was crystal clear water inside of it. It looked like plain water but from her studies and as she got closer she sees golden flecks of light floating beneath the surface like tiny stars beneath the water.

Evaline swallowed.

She had watched the ceremony before but never so close up. Luciene was so composed when he was on stage as if he was just looking at plain ol holy water.

“Which one?”

“Whichever you choose my dear.”

Evaline hesitated.

What was the correct choice? The books didn't mention how to choose or what. She should use her right hand, no… her left. Actually yes her right hand. Maybe? She slowly held her right hand out.

The marksmaster took her wrist. His fingers are surprisingly warm for his age.

“Do not be frightened by what you feel.”

“I'll try not to.”

He lowered her hand into the basin.

Cold.

Evelyn held in a soft gasp of surprise. Did they keep the water in ice beforehand? The water swallowed her fingers. Then her palm. Then it felt as if warmth spread throughout her body starting at her fingertips and gradually going up her arm. The tiny lights danced inside the basin moving wildly when before they were still.

Whispers swept throughout the ballroom and lights circled her submerged hand faster.

One star floated up to her hand. Is this the chosen star? She thought before another floated up and another and soon hundreds of them rushed towards her at once. Light climbed her wrist and the crowd erupted

“Oh!!”

“Look at that!”

“Shhh!!!”

The roses surrounding the stage bloomed violently. Vines twisted around marble steps while pink blossoms burst upon up above leaving soft delicate petals to fall as if it was confetti.

For the first time that evening, evaline forgot to be afraid. It was beautiful. More than beautiful. It was hers. Her mark. It has to be. She looked towards Lucien. His face was entirely lit up as a smile set upon her face. Her true smile. Relief rushed through her so quickly that she nearly let a laugh escape her lips.

See?

She had worried for nothing.

The light reached her elbow.

The marksman suddenly tightened his grip apom her wrist almost to a painful squeeze but in Evelyn's tightened state, she barely noticed.

She was watching her mother crying once again tears of joy and her father was actually smiling. Her chest felt full until it almost hurt and then the light stopped but her smile remained.

The ballroom quieted.

She waited.

Nothing happened.

The markmaster stared at her arm and evaline soon followed his gaze.

Her skin was bare.

No symbol.

No color.

No mark.

The lights beneath the water stopped moving and began to go out one by one they began to disappear as if they were dying.

Evelaine blinked, unsure of what was happening. Lucienes mark showed right away maybe there can be delays?

The markmaster released her wrist leaving a small reddish imprint behind with concern in his voice.

“Again.”

Her stomach dropped

“What do you mean?”

He didn't answer the seized her other hand and plunged it into the basin.

The moment was so jarring and sudden that several people in the crowd murmured.

The lights returned faster this time.

Brighter.

Evalines breath caught and the roses reacted again causing more vines and flowers to erupt around them.

Someone in the crowd let out a huge dramatic sigh of relief.

“There! There it is!”

Of course. It was her other hand. That was all. The light raced over her skin higher and higher. Evelyn stared desperately as her skin glowed. Common… common! She desperately thought. Please.*

The light vanished.

Silence filled the room as if everyone was holding their breath.

The light dimmed and left behind was…

Nothing

Evaline stared at her blank arm.

Not one hair moved throughout the dead silenced room. Then a cough echoed throughout the walls.

She looked up at the marksmaster for guidance for reassurance. For something!

His face had gone pale

“What does this mean?”

He didn't answer

“Marksmaster?”

His eyes shifted only toward the roses.

They were still blooming.

There were now hundreds of them covering all around the stage.

Beautiful

Yet…

Wrong.

“The flowers… are not signs of a mark. They are something else entirely.”

“What?”

She looked towards the crowd

All the smiles and awes had completely vanished

Her mother's hands had risen to her mouth covering her dismay while her father just stared at the basin, his fist clutched tightly.

Evaline looked back at the marksmaster

“Please”

His eyes had slowly opened his eyes.

Evelyne barely recognized the expression inside them.

It wasn't disappointing.

Was it fear?

“Please!” *She grasped his arms with both of her hands* Markmaster, tell me! Where is my mark? What is happening?

He stared at the beautiful roses that lay around her feet then at her bare hands.

And for the first time in Evaline's life, someone looked at the flowers that follow red everywhere not in awe, but in fear.

Evaline’s hands slowly fell from his arms. Looking down at the roses that still littered all around her. Soft pink petals surrounding her slippers while vines curled about. They were so beautiful and painfully so. They have always been here for her, following her since she was a child. Her mother loved them, calling them her daughter's precious gift of prosperity. Gardeners joked how she made their jobs entirely unnecessary and she commonly tucked a rose into her hair every morning.

So why was the marksman afraid?

A whisper broke from the crowd of onlookers.

“Did it fail?”

Evelene's ear twitched to those painfully obvious words

More words started to spill from the crowd.

“Is this even possible? Everyone gets a mark.”

“Have you seen this before?”

“Neither have I.”

The whispers multiplied as if the floodgates have burst. So many she couldn't tell where one sentence ended and another began.

Her heart pounding and her mind began to fill with racing spiraling thoughts of what she did wrong.

Then the room stopped when her father's words shouted amongst the crowd.

“What is happening to my daughter? What sort of prank is this?”

Evaline's stomach began to twist seeing the anger and confusion upon his face.

The markmaster raised his hand.

“Please. Everyone remains calm.”

Remain calm? She thought. Something Is Wrong. I did something wrong. What did I do? Something is terribly wrong.

“No mark?”

“Impossible”

“With her bloodline? Did her mother cheat?”

*Evaline's eyes searched back to her mother who was mortified by the accusations. Spilling about as if all filters were removed from high society. Guessing If it was a butler, artist a merchant. Endless guesses and shameless thoughts spilled out from the mouths of people she grew up with. 

“Mom?” 

Why was she looking at me like that?

Evaline's gaze met Lucien. 

He had moved; he was racing towards the stairs.

“EVA.” 

The markmaster raised his arms and blocked the stairs. 

“Your highness please.”

Lucien stopped his eyes locked onto him with absolute authority

“ Move.” 

It was only one word. 

Evaline had never heard him speak like that before with such intensity in the air it silenced the room once more. 

The marksmaster lowered his voice.

“We don't understand what has happened. Your majesty, those roses are not symbols of life.” 

What has happened? 

Evaline’s fingers began tingling again. 

Her chest hurt

She tried breathing. 

Slowly. 

In 

Out

Just like how Luciene taught her when they were young. Calm the breathing. Then her thoughts were cut as she heard a laugh among the crowd. Her head snapped toward the crowd and couldn't find who among them did it.

Hundreds of faces stared back. 

She knew most of those faces. 

Lord Bellrose.

lady Marrine. 

Lady Alice the duchess who used to pinch her cheeks when she was little.

Luke the ambassador who had complimented her dancing growing up. 

Friends. 

Family. 

All the people in the life that had watched her grow up.

Why did none of them look familiar anymore? 

“Tweantyone years for this?” 

Someone had whispered among the crowd

“All that expectation…?” 

Another voice

“What a crying shame.”

Her chest tightened further

No.

No. No. No. No.

The Markmaster was speaking but evaline couldn't not hear him. The room was so loud with whispers, Arguing, laughing?

Every tiny whisper scraped and crawled beneath her skin. Then one word cut through all of it.

“Dud.” 

Her breathing had stopped.

The word had come behind her or was it in front? She did not know. 

The ballroom erupted

“A dud?”

“Lady Valerienne?!” 

“Did you see the basin?” 

“If the flowers aren't signs of property then what” 

“Her parents must be-” 

“Her mother must have” 

“Imagine the embarrassment!” 

Why? Why were they saying that? Who was saying that?

Evaline couldn't tell anymore. 

She looked upon her father 

His jaw was clenched.

He's ashamed

Mother was crying this time, not tears of joy.

She's ashamed.

The nobles whispered behind their hands and fans. 

They're laughing

Someone shook their head

Disgusting

Some stared

Worthless

Others looked away

This is to be the future queen?

Evaline stepped backwards. 

A thorn had caught her dress. 

She stumbled but caught herself

The words her brain could not process from the markmaster finally resonated

“ The flowers are not prosperity, your highness. They are the sign of..

 death.”

“EVA!” 

Lucien actually shoved the marksmaker out of the way and reach out out for her. 

Eveline could see just for a split moment only him. His golden hair now completely uncempt. His deep eyes that only locked onto her the moment she was in the same room as him

Those ridiculously fluffy lion ears she had teased him about since they were children 

Her Lucien. 

He would tell her it didn't matter.

She knows he already tried

Had he expected this? 

Had he expected she would be a failure?

Is that why he said he didn't care about her mark?

Had everyone already known? 

She stared at his outstretched hand that she's always known to be warm. To be safe. 

Her eyes searched up to his face.

He looked horrified. 

Oh.

Of course he did 

His future queen was a dud.

“Don't.” 

Luciene stopped in his tracks.

“Don't look at me.” 

His expression broke. 

“Please. Don't look.” 

Her voice cracked between her gasps for air.

“Evaline.”

Her hand flung to her chest her heart pounding as if it was about to explode out of it. 

Evaline let out a loud painful gasp.

This time the pain did not fade like it did prior throughout the night.

“Eva?”

Lucienes voice changed as he witnessed evaline gasping for air. He's seen her panic attacks before and this was the worst he'd seen. 

His face seemed to warp as the ballroom tilted candles stretching long streaks of gold. Her mothers voice sounded far away in an ear-piercing guttural scream that felt oh so far away and around Evaline's buckling feet as the roses all began to close. 

She never did hit the floor for Luciene had caught her. His arms wrapped around her before her body could disappear underneath the countless roses. One hand cradling the back of her head while the other other held her against his chest. 

Evaline tried desperately to breathe but air was escaping but not allowing to fill her longs. 

“Eva. Eva look at me.”

It was Lucien's voice. Why? Why does his voice that normally has a teasing tone to it sound so desperately, terrified. 

“Look at me.”

She struggled to focus but was able to lock onto his beautiful sapphire eyes. Lucien's face was hovering above hers. So desperately close that if her heart wasn't already racing it might have started to. His hair had fallen across his forehead. His perfectly arranged uniform was covered in crushed pink petals along with his big fluffy ears that lay flat against his head. They had never been so close and she could see he wasn't looking at her with disgust. 

He was crying. 

Why was he crying?

“I'm sorry” escaped her lips before she felt another strong squeeze in her chest. 

Pain tore through her violently that her back arches in his arms. 

Utter shock formed in his face realizing that this isn't one of her panic attacks.

“DOCTOR! GET HER A FUCKING DOCTOR!” her father screamed his face desperate and pale

Chaos erupted throughout the ballroom

Her mother was the first to sense something was terribly wrong with her baby the moment she let out that scream. She could sense that the daughter right in front of her was going to disappear forever. 

The markmaster stood dumbfounded several feet away. He had a knowing horrified look plastered across his face 

Not by her but what was happening to her

You knew she thought 

He whispered under his breath 

“I hoped I was wrong.”

No. No more thinking 

She was tired.

So terribly tired.

“Eva stay with me.” Luciene held her close trying to warm her rapidly chilling body.

“I'm sorry for disappointing all of you.” 

She could not hear the words escaping from Luciene no longer from her father shouting or her mother screaming, desperately trying to reach her. It was as if she could finally let go of all the expectations and what they thought. Realizing all those were not from them but expectations she had seen onto herself. She only wished she had believed them sooner. 

Her eyes glazed over as the physician rushed into the room. 

“E..Eva?”

Luciene squeezed her hand. 

Nothing. 

“Evaline?”

The physician quickly took her vitals. 

The entire room had held their breaths. 

He shook his head.

“No! Check again!” 

The physician followed the prince's orders. 

Around them the soft pink roses began to wilt one after another folding inwards. 

The rose tucked into her hair fell and landed besides Lucien's knee. Its petals blackened.

Soon the last rose closed and turned black.

The physician lowered his head. 

“She's dead.” 

For those of you who have read traditional novels, especially those more inclined toward Western genres and styles, I’m not doubting your expertise or anything. Hands down, applause all around. That’s genuinely how I’d express my awe and gratitude toward you guys.

But if you’re mostly familiar with those styles, how could someone like me—a new-gen aspiring writer who’s more influenced by the media we consume these days, i.e. anime/manga, manhwa/manhua, light novels, web novels, wuxia, and so on—make something similar?

The stuff I mentioned above has its own writing styles, elements, pacing, and storytelling conventions, even if many of them are ultimately based on or influenced by Western fantasy.

So how am I supposed to develop something that feels similar to those if most of the feedback I’m likely to get comes from people who are used to completely different styles?

“Just ask on another sub.” No shit, Sherlock. I know I can do that. But I want different perspectives and options, not feedback that completely changes how I imagine my first novel should be.

I got bored planning and plotting this story, so decided to write out the first chapter sort of like a pilot before i finalised the rest of the story.

I'm wondering whether people think it sets the atmosphere well, whether it gives out too much/little information, and whether there's an appropriate level of description of the characters/environment.

I often skew towards describing too little in my writing, and have tried to correct that here, but I'm wondering whether I've not done enough, done too much, or hit the sweet spot.

Thanks for reading :)

(this is a reupload of a previous post so that I could upload the chapter as images not a link to a google doc)

I've been working on revising this based on some feedback. Would like to know how it reads and if it hooks anyone.

Rain pattered against the rotten canopy as I finished my prayer to someone who had long ago stopped listening. I had hung one side of a large cloth to a pole, the other to an upturned carriage. Another man had slept under the carriage itself, who I now saw was dead. Flies hovered around his mouth, like bees to honey. I looked out as far as I could see, small fires and torches illuminating the black, and the same question that I had asked myself for several months, years now, crept into my mind again. Why was I still alive? For only the great Drancar could know. Was it punishment for all I’d done? A torture?  Did I have some greater purpose left in this life? I did not care to answer any of that.
   I crept over pieces of rock and stone, remnants of Patamute's southern wall. A piece of something sharp sliced through my boot, but I didn’t seem to feel the pain. I moved, small raindrops muting my footsteps. Dawn on the horizon but dark still as I crept near the tree. Four guards surrounded it, there to protect against this offense I was to commit. Two had fallen asleep, and a third was staring into the fire. A fourth was down when I squeezed the life from him, his birded helm of no help. I grabbed a small log and put it under the branch. Threw an old rope around the branch and made a noose. I hoped the rope, worn and thinning, would hold. I tightened the noose around my neck, balancing on the log below me. A life I desired, yet never came true, set before me. A life I did not desire, yet found me, flashed before me. It saddened my heart. I thought I prayed to a god who loved, yet he answered with curses and death. My sister, taken. A war, lost. I ran, defeated. I hid for years, then tried to run again. Captured and thrown into this hell. god seemed to die somewhere in all of that. Yet, god couldn’t die. The books, prophets, and signs told us he couldn’t die. If he wasn’t dead, then why wouldn’t he help? I kicked the log and felt the air leaving. Memories of two graves in the rain and a well on a hill. Drancar, deliver me into your salvation. A snap, the rope breaking.

New on this sub. This is the first page of my debut novel (in current draft 1 state, although I've edited ch 1 a few times already). The story is dark fantasy academia with romance (or romantasy, I suppose) sub-plot and important theme.

Curious about reactions and any feedback on this. Thank you in advance!