This is the prologue of the book I am currently working on. I know it needs work, but... I'm too lazy to edit before posting, so you're just going to have to put up with my rubbish. So there.

Comments and critiques (especially positive ones ^_^ but negative ones are also welcome) appreciated!


Fingers made clumsy through haste, the condemned tied close the shadow that would hide her. The cries of teh avengers echoed in her ears. They had everything so wrong, and now they were crying for her blood.
Only one could save her. She knew that if she reached him, he would understand -- he would believe her and make everything okay. So she ran, through the shadowy streats -- trying not to hear the lies that snaked through the air around her.
There was not the faintest sliver of moon to guide her feet, and she stumbled, but blessed the darkness that hid her. She reached the water's edge, located the staircase, and continued running.
A familiar tingle of magic flowed over her -- and never had it been so welcome. Soon, she had reached the place where he stayed -- where she knew she could always find him.
But he was gone.
She had pushed through the great front door, but the entryway had not lit upon her entrance. It always lit when she came in. It was his way of showing off. Now, everything was cast in a shadowy semi-darkness.
"Damian?" her voice echoed around the large, marble room.
There came no reply.
Then that huge wooden door, which she had left open in her haste and out of habit, began to creak on its hinges as it slowly closed.
For a moment she thought nothing of it, or the touch of magic that accompanied it, but soon she realized that something was wrong: the magic was not Damian's.
"Oh, no you don't!" Flying to the door, she reached it just too late. It had closed with a final-sounding thud!
Pulling on teh doorknob with all her strength did no good. The door had been sealed.
"Very well," she muttered, "If you want to play rough...." With that, she launched the most powerful spell seh could think of at the locked door. It bounced back and hit her ni the stomache, throwing her all the way across the room. She landed uncomfortably on the stairs.
Somewhere, someone laughed.
"You'll never get out that way."
"Dianne? Dianne, is that you? Let me out!"
"Oh, but I can't. You see, dear, you are a dangerous criminal. A murderer. If I let you out, who knows how many more innocent lives you'll take?"
Had she been thinking propperly, she would have heard the sarcasm in these words and realized its significance. As it was, there was only one thought in her mind:
"I didn't kill him! You know I didn't-- I couldn't! He was only a child. His death will cause a war! Please, believe me, I didn't want that. Please, I didn't kill him!"
"I'm sorry, dear, you've already had a trial. I'm afraid you plead guilty."
"What trial? There was no trial."
"Yes, there was -- you were there, and you admitted to everything. I must say: I play you rather well. Anyways, I must be off. Have fun now."
"NO! Wait!! Dianne, let me out!" Scrambling off the steps and running to the door, she banged her fists against it. "Let me out! Please, please let me out! Damian! Damian, I'm here! Help me!" her cries turned to sobs, "Please, help me."
She slid down the door and onto the cold, marble floor. Numbness, not just from the cold, filled her. Dianne had been her colleague, even her friend. Betrayal was cold, cold and lonesome, like a night alone in a winter storm.
One thought warmed her: Damian.
In an instant, she knew, he would be by her side, he would save her, and then they would stop Dianne together. In an instant....
Instant after instat went by.
Instants trickled into minutes, and minutes into hours, hours into days. In all that time, she did not move once. Her heart had frozen, as cold as the floor she sat on.
Dianne had betrayed her.
Damian had not come for her.
Death stood beside her.
A cold hand touched her face, and she stirred from the half-dream state she had been in.
"Damian?"
It was not Damian. The man touching her face was a stranger to her.
"Is this it, then?" his voice carried the hint of an accent that was unknown to her, "Giving up in a cold, empty room?"
She opened her mouth to protest that she had not given up, she was just waiting -- but the words wouldn't come, partly because he spoke the truth, and partly because she had not spoken in over a month and her mouth was too dry to form words.
The man held his hand out to her.
"Very well," he said, "Sairee, come with me."
She murmered her consent, and reached out to accept the hand he offered, but one thought stopped her: Dianne. Giving up meant Dianne had won. She would get everything she wanetd, her crimes neatly planted on Sairee.
She pulled her hand back.
"No!" she said, her voice cracking as it tried to force itself out her dry throat, "NO!" she said again, her voice stronger. She scrambled to her feet, away from him.
A smile briefly crossed the face of the stranger, but he spoke sternly: "You can't stay here, alone in this dark prison, feeling sorry for yourself forever."
"I don't intend to." A fire had been lit inside her. She did not know what had started it, but she knew what to feed it to keep it going. "I'm getting out of here," she said, "Dianne Paun is going to pay. A curse, just for her." Sairee raised her hands, but the man stopped her.
"There's no magic here," he said, "Except that imprisons you."
"I don't need magic," Sairee replied, "Just a promise: I will not rest until I see Dianne Paun and all those who have followed her fallen! I know her goal -- I will see it plucked from her grasp, never to be achieved." Having reached the end of her proclomation, Sairee staggered and nearly fell. The strange man caught her by the arm.
"You need warmth, food, and rest," said he, "You have revenge to plot in the morning."