Hi everyone, these are my six blurbs that I spent days rewriting. They should all be good, but if they need small tweaks or revisions please let me know.

The Inheritance

When a mysterious buyer offers to purchase Tim Faun’s inheritance—a $50 million mansion—he eagerly agrees.

But the buyer tricks Tim into unleashing a vengeful curse.

He tells Tim something about finding four stones, and then he’s gone, snatched away by some shadowy monster before he can explain himself further.

Trapped inside, fleeing ghosts and monsters, all Tim knows for certain is that only a person with the surname of Faun can end the curse.

Or take its place…

His sister is on her way to the mansion, unaware of the horrors he’s unleashed.

Souls of Fire and Shadow. (sequel to the inheritance so back blurb doesn't matter as much as the first book)

If only Tim knew how deep the secrets of his inheritance really went. 

His old allies are gone, and new enemies have taken their place. The monsters from the mansion have fled below, and many are stronger than ever. 

As he ventures deeper into the Underground, he finds evidence of an ancient, forgotten race who once walked on Earth with souls of fire and shadow. 

The fate of the world hangs in the balance as an old civil war is rekindled. And even with a magical sword, Tim is unsure he’ll be able to stop the darkness this time.

To Become Human

Alana is one of the Benevolent Aliens, an empathic galaxy-wide race who have turned every planet within their empire into a peaceful utopia, except for one: Earth.

The Council warns that the world is doomed by its own technology and violence. It’s not that they don't want to save it, but the mere sight of violence easily kills any Benevolent Alien. But Alana remains determined.

Out of trillions of candidates, she succeeds in adapting to Earth's culture and starting her mission to change its fate. And that's only because she desperately wants to become human, whereas most reject the idea with revulsion.

She soon learns that not everything she read in those books about Earth was accurate. And to make matters worse, she discovers a sinister plot involving the very technology the Council feared.

As she’s forced to navigate lies and handle betrayal, her dream of becoming human seems impossibly far off as the world crumbles around her. Will she become human and save the Earth?

Reyna’s Lucid Dream

Reyna can't grow up yet; she's lost herself to a nightmare. So she heads to the only place where children go to overcome the inevitable: the Dream World.

But upon arrival, she learns that the refuge her sister had once shown her when she was a child is no longer safe.

Most of the other Dreamers have lost their dreams to terrifying monsters known as Fears who now roam the land freely and in greater numbers.

With the Dream World fading, Reyna embarks on a quest to find herself again, hoping there's still enough magic left to make her dreams come true. 

The Color of the Waves

The Outside—a massive space station housing Earth's most elite scholars—has maintained a delicate peace for years. But the people on Earth, long denied entry due to their low morality scores, have grown to hate everything it stands for.

And two of the Outside's council members have resorted to desperate measures as the Outside's philosophy of Serenity wanes.

But Yunna Tanaka still believes in the promise of Serenity. Though she is shunned due to her walking disability and intelligence, she seizes her chance to enter the Outside through the entrance exam.

On the night before the exam, she dreams of the color of the waves—and embraces a primordial power. That same night, her oldest friend, Mason, wakes up from a nightmare, cursed with a very different power.

One of them will become humanity's last hope. The other will be the reason it needs it.

Into the Wild
Following the destruction of their homeland by the Ancient Beasts, the brothers, Chris and Tyler, have taken refuge in the hidden village of Ichrion, hoping to one day reclaim their homeland.

But they’re orphans in a strange land. And though they know evil is rising, they cannot venture beyond the village walls—the village elder forbids them.

Growing suspicious one day, they go against the village elder’s decrees and learn that everything they've been told about Ichrion was a lie.

The brothers are forced out of their home as evil pursues them. Yet that is only the start of their epic journey against evil.

Just wanted a general feedback on is it an interesting read, willingness to continue reading and does it hook you in by the first couple of pages. English isnt my first language so some sentences might be clunky or grammatically wrong or bad prose. But any feedback are welcomed and thanks for your time!

Synopsis: In 1966, when the 20-year-old politically inexperienced Queen of Midoria ascends to the throne, Elenora Ashila inherits a kingdom that has become increasingly polarized. Things take a dramatic turn, when high-ranking general, Rikard Pereno, urges her to make him prime minister and dissolve the parliament because of the ‘’threat’’ of communism. A caretaker hands her a telegram from a foreign reporter that tells her about what’s actually happening in her kingdom. A game of influence, persuasion, and loyalty ensues.

Prologue: God Save the Queen

At age four, Elenora Ashila became heiress to an increasingly polarized kingdom.

From that point on, she was going to be queen, not a consort, but a regnant. Her mother and grandmother were consorts, one before the other. Did they ever wish they were in charge like their husbands?

One thing had always been clear: Elenora wouldn’t rule alone. Her father, King Alfred VIII, mentioned something called a ‘’parliament’’. Was it a secondary body of the Royal Council, a large museum, or a new kind of stadium for the World Cups?

Her father said, ‘’They are an advisory chamber elected by the people. It’s what the youngsters call ‘democracy’.’’

His definition contradicted what Elenora had obtained in secret from Lucio, the Lord Chamberlain. In a real democracy, a monarchy was not only out of place, but they were completely needless. Elenora was expected to work with this newly established legislature. They could come up with any law they wanted, but ultimately, the king would have the final say.

Some democracy… Elenora pondered.

She wrestled with the idea for a while before putting it aside. As she reached the age of majority, she was finally learning about running the country. Up until then, she had perfected in waving to people, cutting ribbon, writing speeches, and learning table etiquette. All that ceremonial stuff would be her undoing.

Now, she was hearing words like royal decrees, appointments and dismissals of government officials, and commanding the Royal Guard.

Although the Midorian monarch was commander-in-chief of the Royal Armed Forces, she would have to share that power with the prime minister.

That was a title that floated around after the parliament, the Chamber of Delegates, was founded. Against the ideal ways of a democracy, the monarch appointed the prime minister in the end. To be fair, it became custom to pick the ones with the most votes. But what if the monarch chose someone from the minority?

King Alfred said, ‘’you might as well give that power up to a majority vote.’’

Elenora had more questions than answers regarding politics, because everyone around her rarely gave her a straight answer. She couldn’t ignore the parliamentary system was rising water. You couldn’t stop it, unless you used drastic methods to drain it. Those methods likely filled her father’s mind, as he was talking to his advisors about a growing ‘’leftist threat’’.

Politics were like science: They always came up with new words to complicate already complicated matters. This time, Elenora couldn’t push it away. What was leftism? Both in the Chamber of Delegates and the Royal Council, people spoke about socialism, communism, and anarchism. All these isms, and Elenora got a multitude of answers that never aligned well.

It wasn’t because the king didn’t bother teaching his heiress; his health had deteriorated for the worse. A cancer disease would soon take away the barely fifty-year-old king, and it was the kind that could turn the healthiest person into the most bedridden in a matter of months.

Queen Mariana, Elenora’s mother, urged her daughter to go see him in his bedchamber. It was only a matter of time.

She held her father’s hand as his soul was leaving his body. He had been king as far back as she remembered. Kings before him put duty before family. Somehow, he managed to balance both.

When she was playing in the garden as a kid, her father would come out the door after work to catch his daughter jumping onto his arms. He may not have taught his daughter much about politics, but he did teach her to play poker, chess, and keep a straight face amidst it all.

He answered, ‘’Games like that can teach you lots about a person.’’

She was twelve at the time and too confused to ask how.

The sickly king rolled his head over to face Elenora. He ran a finger across her cheek.

‘’My girl…’’ he said.

 Her twentieth birthday was five months ago, but she was still his little princess who was so full of life and could light everybody’s day with her smile. It could make the most depressed man’s day, if only for a few hours.

‘’Father?’’ Elenora asked.

His eyelids lifted a tiny bit.

‘’Am I ready? I feel like I know next to nothing…’’

‘’You will… when the time is right…’’

That assured her as much as anything else. Why wasn’t anyone telling her anything? Was Lucio even hiding stuff from her, despite their close relationship?

Elenora kissed her father’s forehead as she said goodbye. King Alfred passed away three hours later, but his death wasn’t announced until the early morning.

Lucio walked into Elenora’s room. She had hardly slept since she departed from her father. There was no time to mourn, as Lucio asked about her regnal name.

‘’Elenora I.’’ she replied.

No other queen had reigned over Midoria before. She had heard about old duchesses named like her.

Lucio smiled and bowed. ‘’Long live Queen Elenora I!’’

After years of being addressed as a Highness, she was now a Majesty. She was a princess that took her duties seriously; now she was a queen that could shape her kingdom for better or worse. Her coronation was scheduled already for next week.

All she had to do was listen, excluding an important oath she had to swear in front of tens of officials, nobles, celebrities, journalists, and cameras. This would mark the first televised coronation in Midoria’s history. Would this be its last?

Sitting on the Midorian throne, the same her father sat on as he pledged his oath, it was time for the first queen to honor that tradition.

Elenora’s chair was elevated above a staircase. By her side, stood her mother and grandmother, both queen consorts and mothers from two respectful generations. It dazed Elenora that she never had to worry about becoming either of those.

Father Paul, the Archbishop of the Church of Midoria, walked slowly towards the young queen. In his hands, he carried a stuffy red pillow with the Midorian crown on, a silver headwear decorated with glitter and a blood-red crystal on the forehead. A cross was on top.

She truly wasn’t going to rule alone.

The oath presented itself in her mind, and she lifted herself from her throne almost impulsively.

‘’I, Elenora of House Ashila, do solemnly swear that I will uphold the law and tradition, reign with dignity and wisdom, on behalf of Almighty God, and the welfare of the Green Kingdom. And this I shall do, until the day I die.’’

The words poured out by themselves. For a moment, Elenora feared she missed a verse.

She got to her knees, as Father Paul spoke, ‘’By the power vested in me, from the Lord and the Holy Spirit, I declare you queen of Midoria.’’

He paused as he carefully rested the crown on Elenora’s head. It was heavier than she imagined.

‘’Arise, Queen Elenora.’’

The stage was set. The time was now. The Elenorian Era had begun.

"They’re unloading," shouted a kitchen boy, his voice cracking at the last syllable in anxiety. The throng collapsed into prayers to Mother Asherah, the world spirit. Waving around clay rosaries as if that would change anything. Veris spat.

He rubbed the metal-studded collar around his neck and wondered what kind of mother would allow their children to be shackled.

Veris climbed onto the table, angling his head to see through the press of people and out the window. In the yard strode a formation of enforcers, muskets tightly gripped in hand. Their grey uniforms were trimmed with bits of silver that gleamed in the sunlight. Perhaps that was the reason for their bloated egos? Like a rimbird that found a shiny rock. He scuffed.

The enforcers broke formation to encircle the carriage parked at the manor's gates. Hooked to the front of the carriage was a golem. The odd contraption was something new the archaeologist had dug up from the old world. Vaguely horse-like and completely made of metal. The thing puffed out a trail of stream that lingered in the air for too long. The doors of the carriage slid out, and a ramp spilled out into the grass.

“Come out,” shouted a female enforcer. A line of people chained together at the neck shambled out.

Cries of dismay rose from around him. Whatever hope that flickered in his chest died. They were just like the tales said. The chained men and women looked as if they were carved from marble. Skin as white as snow. Hair as pale as bone. Eyes the color of blood.

Veris noted that even through their coarse wool tunics, their muscles were prominent. Mountaineer warriors, one of the last strongholds against the empire. Captured with their heads bowed. The crowd backed away from the window as if the sight burned them.

It’s four in the morning on a Tuesday and it's still dark outside. The alarm clock is going off. I turned over in bed and shut off the alarm clock. Yawning, I stared at a few stray streaks of light on the ceiling. Sitting up in bed and stretching I pushed the covers back. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and I stared into the darkness. I am feeling pretty good this morning. I fixed my bed with the usual care. In my studio apartment, the layout had a half wall splitting the living room from the bedroom with a partial wall. This is why the bed sat opposite the closet. The closet doors were mirror. Everything I did was mirrored back at me. When I first moved into this apartment it took me some time not to be freaked out by the whole thing since I didn't turn all the lights on to get ready in the morning. Living on my own, there are quite a few things I learn as I go.
 I have gone out of my way today to look nice as well. Taking time to braid my hair and do my makeup. After that was done I pulled my clothes from the closet. I laid them on the bed and threw the pjs in the hamper. While I was getting dressed I looked outside. I have the slatted shades open on my sliding door on the second floor apartment. Outside I can't see any stars, just the lamp light from the parking lot. I slid on my black work pants and chef coat. I was happy. I am the kind of person who can count blessings. I may have to see the forest for the trees sometimes but eventually I get there. Today was one of those days. My bills were paid. I was feeling in relatively good health. I had a steady job. I had a great best friend. My coworkers liked me, well most of them. Things were looking up. There was only one thing I felt like I was missing out on. I had gotten here by sacrificing what everyone my age was out doing. I was being responsible, reasonable. I was managing all my time and my cable subscription was my wild expense. I kept promising myself that I’d get to the point where I’d let myself go out or try something. I’d be slightly adventurous just once and then go back so it would be okay. This, however, was not something that was pulling me in today. Today I was just going to enjoy my life and the job I really started to love.
  Stepping out of my apartment, the warm humid air hit me like a warm hug. I loved the feel of it on my skin. It reminded me why I loved living in Texas. I live in downtown San Antonio. I was right across the street from Santa Rosa Hospital. I was about a mile's walk from work. I work at the Emily Morgan Hotel. I had a car but saw no need to use it for a one mile walk. Being nineteen a mile wasn’t going to kill me. I did use it if I wasn't feeling up to it or had something to do after. I looked again at my watch just out of habit. I locked the door and put my keys in the purse I was carrying. I turned and went for the stairs. I laughed to myself at how good I had gotten at living life in the dark. Walking down the stairs I put in my earbud and turned on my music. I waved at my car as I passed by it. I listened to the noise my heavy shoes made on broken and loose asphalt as I walked the length of the parking lot. It seemed unnecessarily loud since it was so quiet at this time.  I eventually hit the sidewalk and began the mile walk to work. I wanted to hum but I always tried to keep an awareness around me since it was still downtown. I had been doing this a few months already and had not had any problems so I had some confidence but one can never be one hundred percent.  

I'd love to hear your honest first impressions of the opening chapters of my completed epic fantasy novel, The 13th Moon (about 2,200 words).

I'm not looking for line edits at this stage—just your natural reactions as a reader. Any honest feedback, positive or negative, would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read it.

Chapter 1 - Sara

The package sat between them like an omen.

Will gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his attention fixed on the road as countryside blurred past beyond the windows. He was trying to appear calm, but the muscle working in his jaw gave him away.

Sara drew her knees up against the seat and glanced again at the leather-wrapped bundle resting beside the console.

“What was that?” she asked finally.

Will’s eyes stayed forward. “I don’t know.”

“He knew your name.”

“I know.”

“That’s not normal.”

His grip shifted slightly on the wheel. “I’m aware.”

Sara looked back at the package. “You don’t find this even slightly concerning?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why did you take it?”

Will exhaled softly before answering. “I can't explain it, but when he handed it to me, it felt like he already knew me."

Sara let out a short disbelieving breath. “That’s your reasoning?”

He glanced at her. “You didn’t feel it?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. Her attention drifted back to the package despite herself. The thing seemed to pull at her focus every time she looked away.

Will rubbed absently at the chain around his neck before unclasping it. The amulet settled into his palm, warm against his skin.

“This thing’s been irritating me all morning,” he muttered. He stared at it, unsettled by the heat lingering in the metal, then slipped it into the inside pocket of his bag.

Sara folded her arms. “This could be anything. Drugs. Money. Something illegal.”

“Or something important.”

“Or something that gets us arrested.”

A faint smile touched his mouth before disappearing again. “The old man told us not to open it,” he said.

“That just makes me want to open it more.”

“I know.”

Her fingers moved toward the leather cord.

“Don’t.” Will caught her wrist gently but firmly. “He said he’d find us.”

“So what? We’re just supposed to spend the rest of our gap year driving around Europe carrying some mystery package while we wait for him to magically reappear?”

Will glanced into the rear-view mirror before answering. “Until we know what this is, I'd rather trust him than ignore him.”

She stared at him for a second before shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that.”

Despite herself, she smiled faintly.

It didn’t last.

By the time they reached their hotel, the sky had flattened into dull grey. Sara found herself glancing back through the window as Will parked, unsettled by the strange feeling that she had been here before. Which was impossible. This was her first time travelling overseas.

Will killed the engine and reached for the package. “Go upstairs,” he said, handing it to her. “Start packing.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ll check us out.”

Sara hesitated, glancing toward the hotel entrance where tourists drifted in and out beneath the awning. “You sure we shouldn’t stay? He said he’d meet us.”

Will opened the door. “He said he’d find us.”

Before she could answer, he leaned across and kissed the top of her head. Then he was gone.

Sara watched him disappear into the lobby before looking down at the package in her hands. It was warm. She shook it, but it didn’t rattle. Just a dull weight.

The lift ride up seemed strangely long. By the time the doors opened, a faint unease had begun to creep in. The corridor beyond stretched out silent and empty. Sara stepped out quickly, her grip tightening around the package as she headed toward the room. At the door she fumbled the keycard on the first attempt, swore under her breath, then shoved inside and locked it behind her, chain and deadbolt. Only then did she breathe properly.

She placed the package carefully on the bed and stared at it. “Don’t open it.” The old man’s warning returned with uncomfortable clarity. Sara turned away, dragging her suitcase onto the bed and began to pack. Clothes disappeared into bags without folding, her movements quick and distracted.

Something hit the floor behind her.  

She froze. The package lay beside the bed.

Slowly, Sara turned toward the door. Still locked. The room felt unnaturally still. She crouched beside it carefully. The leather cord had loosened, the flap sitting partially open.

Sara swallowed. “Don’t open it.” Her hand moved anyway. The leather felt worn smooth beneath her fingers as she pulled the flap back fully. A book rested inside. Old. Heavy. Bound in dark leather. She lifted it carefully onto the bed, brushing her thumb across the cover—and stopped.

A gold symbol gleamed beneath the light. Her breath caught. “No way…”

It was identical to the symbol on Will’s amulet. A hexagon. A circle. Intersecting lines. Sara stared at it for a long moment before trying the cover. Locked. Of course it was.

She turned slowly toward Will’s bag.

“No,” she whispered. Then—“Yes.”

She crossed the room quickly and dropped beside his luggage, digging through it until her fingers closed around cold metal. She pulled the amulet free and stared at it for a second before looking back at the book waiting on the bed.

“This is insane…” But she was already moving.

The amulet settled perfectly into the indentation on the cover. Like it belonged there. Sara twisted it carefully. Click. The sound echoed through the room.

The book pulsed beneath her hand. Sara jerked back. “What the hell—”

The air shifted around her. For a moment she simply stared at the book, her pulse hammering hard against her ribs.

Then slowly, carefully, she reached for the cover again.

And opened it.

Chapter 2 - Will

The lift doors slid shut with a soft thud.

Will leaned back against the rail, exhaling slowly as he tried to shake the unease that had followed him from the street below. The old man, the package—something about it still sat wrong in his chest, refusing to leave him alone no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter.

“Get a grip,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as the lift hummed into motion.

At first the change was subtle, little more than a faint chill brushing against his skin, easy enough to ignore, but within seconds the cold deepened sharply through the lift until goosebumps rose along his arms and his breath fogged faintly in front of him.

Will frowned. “What the hell?”

The lights flickered violently. The floor shifted beneath him hard enough to throw him against the rail as the steady mechanical hum distorted into something heavier and uneven, like metal dragging through stone. Darkness swallowed the lift entirely. For one disorienting second the world seemed to compress inward around him, reality folding tightly into itself before suddenly releasing again.

The doors chimed. Light flooded in. Will blinked hard as the world snapped back into focus. Except the lift was gone.

He didn’t move at first. Silence pressed in from every direction, complete and unnatural, stripped of machinery, voices, traffic—anything familiar enough to anchor him. When he finally stepped forward, uneven stone met the soles of his boots and cold air carried the faint scent of oil and dust, like a place sealed away for years.

“This isn’t possible.” His voice echoed softly through the corridor. That made it worse.

Paintings lined the walls beside him in heavy gold frames, each depicting the same man in different poses and ages, the same raised scar running down the left side of his face.

Will stared at them uneasily before turning sharply toward where the lift should have been. He grabbed the tapestry hanging behind him and yanked it aside.

Stone wall. No doors. No lift. Nothing. A laugh threatened to escape before dying in his throat.

"Okay... this has to be some kind of trick.”

His gaze dropped suddenly to his clothes. Dark fabric layered heavily across his body, rough and structured beneath his hands. Not jeans and not his jacket. Instead, a tunic and laced trousers. He turned the sleeve over in his hands.

“These are not my clothes.”

His hand moved instinctively to his neck. The amulet rested there against his skin. Will frowned. He could remember taking it off in the car and slipping it into his bag. The memory remained perfectly clear, yet the weight against his chest was solid and unmistakably real beneath his fingers. He simply stood there staring at it, unsettled by how little sense that made.

Then his awareness shifted elsewhere, to the sword strapped across his back. Slowly, Will reached over his shoulder and drew the blade free. Steel slid cleanly from the scabbard in one smooth practiced motion that tightened something low in his chest. Dark metal caught the corridor light with a faint blue-black sheen while subtle markings ran along the fuller, almost invisible unless the light struck them directly. A deep emerald sat worked into the hilt and near the guard, worked into the metal beneath years of use —A.Z.

His grip adjusted naturally around the worn leather binding. Balanced. Certain. Like the sword already belonged in his hand. Will stared at it uneasily. “I don’t know how to use a sword,” he said under his breath.

But even as the words left him, he knew they weren’t entirely true. Something beneath conscious thought had already begun responding to this place. His stance adjusted slightly without instruction, weight settling instinctively into balance as awareness sharpened around him in ways he couldn’t explain.

Then voices echoed faintly below. Will looked toward the windows lining the corridor. The Danube stretched beyond them—but not the Danube he knew. No bridges, no modern skyline, only farmland, forest, and thin trails of smoke disappearing into grey skies. “No…”

The voices rose again, sharper now, arguing somewhere below him. He shouldn’t have understood the language, yet somehow the meaning arrived before the words themselves, clear and immediate inside his mind.

Will backed instinctively into the shadows, his breathing slowing automatically as his grip tightened around the sword. The reaction felt less like panic than training, controlled in a way that unsettled him far more deeply.

At the far end of the corridor, heavy timber doors reinforced with iron stood closed, the only barrier between him and whatever was coming. He moved toward them carefully, every step quiet on the stone floor.

The voices were close now, too close.

Will pressed his ear against the timber doors. Only silence waited on the other side. He reached for the heavy iron bar holding the doors shut and lifted—

The sword slipped from his hand. Steel struck stone with a sharp metallic crack that echoed violently through the corridor. Will swore under his breath. Below him, the voices stopped instantly. Movement came fast. Ascending.

Will snatched the sword back up and shoved through the doors just as shouting erupted beneath him. He slammed them shut behind him and dropped the iron bar back into place with a heavy thud.

Darkness swallowed the room. For several seconds, he stayed completely still, listening to the silence while his pulse hammered hard against his ribs. Nothing followed. Gradually shapes emerged through the dark—shelves, furniture, towering rows disappearing into shadow. A library.

Will moved carefully through the room until he reached the heavy curtains near the far side. He pulled one aside slightly, allowing a thin blade of daylight to spill across the space. Dust drifted through the beam of light. And there, resting on the desk beneath it—

A book. Leather-bound. Ancient. Familiar.

Will stepped toward it before fully realising he’d moved.  The gold symbol on the cover caught the light. “No way…”  A hexagon. A circle. Intersecting lines. The same symbol as the amulet. He lifted the book carefully.

Then movement shifted near the window. Will turned instantly. A man stepped from the shadows, huge, broad-shouldered, scarred. The same face from the paintings. Recognition struck before logic could stop it—not memory exactly, but something deeper and older that caught him off guard.

The man studied him before a slow smile spread across his face. “You.”

Will shook his head. “No. You’ve got the wrong—”

“Not this time.” The words struck harder than they should have.

Something flashed violently through Will’s mind—Steel. Fire. Rain. Voices. Gone almost instantly. He staggered slightly as the man’s smile deepened.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

The attack came without warning. The man moved with terrifying speed, his blade crashing toward him. Will reacted instinctively. Steel collided hard enough to jar through his arms, but his footing adjusted automatically, balanced and controlled as he absorbed the force and redirected it cleanly aside.

The man stepped back slowly now, studying him differently. “Better,” he said.

Will tightened his grip on the sword, unsettled by how natural it already felt in his hands. “I don’t even know how I’m doing this.”

The man attacked again. This time Will moved before conscious thought could catch up. Everything aligned at once—distance, timing, balance—as his body slipped cleanly inside the arc of the strike with terrifying familiarity.

The opening appeared instinctively before him. He took it. And drove the blade into the man’s chest.

For a moment neither of them moved. The man looked down at the sword buried in him before lifting his gaze back to Will. “Ashur,” he said quietly.

The name struck somewhere deep beneath thought, something ancient answering the name before he could stop it.

The man let out a faint breathless laugh. “Took you long enough.” Then his strength gave way. His body collapsed heavily to the floor.

The library fell quiet once more. Will stared down at the body, breathing unevenly as the reality of what had just happened slowly caught up with him. He stared at the wound, at the precision of the strike, at the certainty behind it. He had known exactly where to strike.

“No…” he whispered, but the denial already felt weak. Beneath the fear and confusion was familiarity. And that frightened him far more than the killing itself.

This is the beginning of chapter 40 of my psychological historical romance. For context, this story is a love triangle, but the duke is the villainous male lead. She had just finished playing the violin for him---she has to regularly perform for him (due to circumstances), but the duke doesn't want her to go so fast, so he has a meal prepared for her and is basically forcing her to sit and eat before she leaves.

--

EXCERPT

An uncomfortable silence stretched in the parlor, seconds passing like agonizing minutes. Sweat dampened Deborah’s hands. The violin case handle slipped by a centimeter before she tightened her grip, her nails digging so deep into her palms she thought they would bleed. But the pressure remained. She darted her eyes toward the silver tray and stared at her trembling reflection on the shiny, curved surface. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to Markus. 

But his eyes were already on her. 

Deborah quickly lowered her lashes, her stomach churning into tight knots. As though it were instinct, she knew that testing Markus’s patience further would not be wise. He had prepared a meal for her, and it seemed that he was determined to have her eat it. If she refused him again, it may lead to something… unfavorable. She could feel it in her bones. The best thing she could do was to eat quickly and then leave. But all the anxiety coursing through her body had settled like heavy bricks of lead in her gut… which meant she couldn’t quite stomach anything right now.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she stiffly lowered herself onto the settee and set the violin case on the large carpet with a muted thud. 

She hated being controlled. It suffocated her to no end.

Deborah wordlessly leaned forward, reaching the silver lid atop the tray, and lifted it. She froze, her lips parting slightly. Beneath the cover sat an elegant but small arrangement of two sandwiches, cut into triangles. Crispy lettuce poked from between the slices of bread, along with glistening tomato halves, and fragrant thin slivers of ham. The blue tea on the side completed the meal.  

For a moment, she just looked at it. But then familiarity wrote itself on her face. She was reminded of the sandwiches Jonah had bought her a few days ago… the only difference being that this presentation was far superior. Yet, with Markus staring at her so intently, it was difficult to be pleased with the look. A chill went down her spine. A stark contrast to the warmth Jonah exuded whenever she was with him.

How did he know she liked sandwiches? She blinked skeptically. Was it pure coincidence or—

“Eat,” Markus said, still lazily leaning against his knuckles, watching her as if she were some kind of entertainment. “Once you’ve finished all of it, you may be dismissed. It’s a simple enough arrangement, wouldn’t you agree?”

A sharp retort curled on Deborah’s tongue, but she bit her cheek until the taste of iron engulfed her mouth. She was already in enough trouble. It wouldn’t be smart to add to it. Her eyes darted to the large grandfather clock hanging high on the fireplace. It was already a quarter past five. 

She was wasting time. 

If she was to leave before the sun began setting, she needed to eat now. Hesitantly, she reached for a triangle and lifted it to her lips. With a slouch, she chewed slowly, in an almost mechanical way; but then, the pleasant taste finally reached her, making her go still. Her stomach remained tight, but she continued, just thankful to Jesus that at least it didn’t taste nasty. 

The tension in Markus’s fingers relaxed at the sight of her finally eating. Good, he thought calmly, lifting his warm teacup. That’s more like it. Her submission took far longer than he’d have liked, but this was a process after all. He only needed to continue being patient.

 She was clearly upset about this added condition of sitting through a small meal, but her disagreeability did not concern him. She’d get over it. This was simply a process she must go through if he was to get her to be more open to him—warm to him.

About a month ago, I had posted the opening one of my chapters to rather polarizing reception. Here is a non-sequitur excerpt from the middle of the same chapter (a chapter which I'm still working on, as I'm just that much of an underwriter).

Just in case you got tripped up by the number of named characters, Orlon is the POV character here. The excerpt opens with one of his cousins, having set off alone after a boar earlier, riding back to camp with a mysterious boy who later happens to recognize Orlon by name.

I'd appreciate your feedback on the prose and especially the dialog.

*I'm an ESL writer, and none of this is AI-assisted or translated.