Whispers of Eden Book #1 Progress
Synopsis
Layden Prier, a fledgling prophetess, competes to join the ranks of the ruling-elite. However, because of the promptings of her enigmatic Guardian and the onset of new prophetic visions, she ends up uncovering pivotal secrets that leave the fate of humanity in her hands.
She's been gifted with vision, but when all is revealed, will she truly see?
She's been gifted with vision, but when all is revealed, will she truly see?
First 300...
Layden Prier was crawling out of her skin, and she hadn’t even left her body yet.
For the past half hour, she’d watched her peers rise from their seats when summoned, obsessively counting the minutes between when they disappeared behind that large oak door, to the moment their Guardian returned, a new name on his lips.
The whole process seemed to take mere minutes.
And yet, when it had come to her turn, those minutes passed and then some. For some reason—some unknowable reason—the door remained closed, her name uncalled.
In the back of Layden’s mind, she knew she should be grateful for her stolen time—a few more minutes to draw her own breath, to feel her own heartbeat—but she couldn’t keep her thoughts from running to the room beyond. What could have happened to make them stop? Surely it wasn’t planned.
The crowd watched her with wary eyes, as though the delay was somehow her fault. And maybe it was. Maybe she’d given the Council a reason to doubt her candidacy. Maybe they’d seen her on the ledge outside her window that morning, which now that she thought about it, could have looked suspicious. Uncommitted. Or worse.
Only, it wasn’t what it looked like. She’d only wanted to get one more glimpse of the sea as the sun rose, the vast expanse of water stretching beyond the horizon, never-ending and unbroken all around, punctuated only by the glistening buildings of the Council’s city. To her, they looked like monsters rising from the sea; no hard angle to catch the eye, but curves and smoothness and movement. Beautiful. Her childish heart sometimes pretended to see land, eyes squinting so tight that the hard line of the horizon fooled her for the briefest of moments. Exhilarating.
But that morning, Layden hadn’t wanted land. She hadn’t wanted myths and legends, just the world she’d always known. Unchanged and familiar. She needed to feel her toes go stiff against the metal in the cold morning air, and relish that they were still hers. She needed to study them carefully, every pockmark, scar, and line that made them unique. The stories behind each.
They’d served her well as far as lesser appendages go...
For the past half hour, she’d watched her peers rise from their seats when summoned, obsessively counting the minutes between when they disappeared behind that large oak door, to the moment their Guardian returned, a new name on his lips.
The whole process seemed to take mere minutes.
And yet, when it had come to her turn, those minutes passed and then some. For some reason—some unknowable reason—the door remained closed, her name uncalled.
In the back of Layden’s mind, she knew she should be grateful for her stolen time—a few more minutes to draw her own breath, to feel her own heartbeat—but she couldn’t keep her thoughts from running to the room beyond. What could have happened to make them stop? Surely it wasn’t planned.
The crowd watched her with wary eyes, as though the delay was somehow her fault. And maybe it was. Maybe she’d given the Council a reason to doubt her candidacy. Maybe they’d seen her on the ledge outside her window that morning, which now that she thought about it, could have looked suspicious. Uncommitted. Or worse.
Only, it wasn’t what it looked like. She’d only wanted to get one more glimpse of the sea as the sun rose, the vast expanse of water stretching beyond the horizon, never-ending and unbroken all around, punctuated only by the glistening buildings of the Council’s city. To her, they looked like monsters rising from the sea; no hard angle to catch the eye, but curves and smoothness and movement. Beautiful. Her childish heart sometimes pretended to see land, eyes squinting so tight that the hard line of the horizon fooled her for the briefest of moments. Exhilarating.
But that morning, Layden hadn’t wanted land. She hadn’t wanted myths and legends, just the world she’d always known. Unchanged and familiar. She needed to feel her toes go stiff against the metal in the cold morning air, and relish that they were still hers. She needed to study them carefully, every pockmark, scar, and line that made them unique. The stories behind each.
They’d served her well as far as lesser appendages go...