Child Of The Angels Prologue Editing Progress
What it was:
Specks or blotches of black aren’t regarded as an issue, but to have full black wings is seen as an indication of the dreadful intentions that person will have.
Though when you were a child of 5, you didn’t understand why you were shunned. After all, how could you tell a kid that it’s because of the shade of her wings. And even though no one else in your family had the fully jet black wings, you never perceived it as a problem. But your family and the rest of your species didn’t think the same as your naive mind did.
But as you grew older, you began to notice the sneers of adults or how parents would drag their children away from you. They would avoid you almost as if you were the plague.
What it is now:
Specks or blotches of black aren't regarded as an issue, but to have fully black wings is seen as an indication of the dreadful intentions that person will have. Though as a child of five, you never understood why you were shunned. After all, how could someone tell a kid that it's because of the shade of her wings? It's just easier to follow what others do rather than go against the flow and actually realize that what you're doing is immoral. And it's even harder to muster the courage to tell a little girl that the reason she's being mistreated isn't that she did something wrong. Instead, it's because of something as simple yet uncontrollable as the color of her feathers.
Though truthfully, at the time, if someone did tell you, you don't even know if you would have understood it. Because while you knew that you were different, no one else in your family having the same jet-black wings as you, you never perceived it as a problem. But your family and the rest of your species didn't think the same as your naive mind did. Their thoughts long since warped and twisted with the beliefs of their predecessors.
And as you grew older, you began to notice the nasty sneers of adults. A look of disgust that was reserved only for you. One so full of resentment that not even the people they hated most in their lives received it. How parents would drag their children away from you the second you were in their eyesight. They would avoid you as if you were more dangerous than the plague that ravaged your home many centuries ago, isolating you to a lonely existence even when surrounded by thousands of your kind. And you didn't think it could have happened, but when you turned ten, everything got worse.
The townspeople that once avoided you would now scream and throw insults so loud that you were sure the next town over could hear. Instead of getting dragged away by their parents, the other children would run away of their own volition. Now old enough to understand all the vile and overall untrue stories the adults were telling them. Not being able to have relationships with others was horrible, especially at the age you were, but you would have happily preferred the loneliness you felt while being shunned in the streets over your parents locking you up like some wild beast.
What it was:
Flying through the trees of your mountain home has always been your favorite pastime. And after being locked up for so long, it’s something you are definitely enjoying. Flapping your wings, you hear the leaves on the top of the trees rustle, some drifting towards you in the updraft and sliding across your primary feathers.
Gulping in the cool mountain air, you spiral straight up into the clouds to feel the moisture collect on the surface of your warm skin. Twisting in circles, you take in the view of bright tiger oranges and crimson reds waltzing across the sky as the sun begins to set.
Sadly, your moment of peace is soon interrupted as angered shouts pierce through the clouds. As you peer down through the thinning wisps, you see multiple groups searching the area.
What it is now:
Flying through the trees of your mountain home had been one of your favorite pastimes in the few years of freedom you had as a child. And after being locked up for so long, it is something you are definitely enjoying once again.
With the flapping of your wings, your ears are greeted by the once forgotten sound of petals rustling in the strong gusts of wind. Leaves part from their branches, drifting towards you in the updraft and sliding across your feathers as if to welcome you back from your long time away.
You smile, twirling through the air in a dance that the foliage happily follows until a draft carries them off to their next partner. As the flowers waltz away in the breeze, you gulp in the cool mountain air, spiraling straight into the clouds to feel the moisture collect on your warm skin. The water droplets gather on your feathers, and while it slows your ascent, you can't be bothered as they also douse the fiery tension in your soul. Heaving a sigh, you twist in circles, taking in the view of bright tiger oranges and crimson reds spinning across the sky as the dual suns begin to set. This was a sight you took for granted as a child, something you've only come to realize now that it's been kept from you. And while it was horrible being locked away in that stone cell, in a weird way, it made you that much more grateful to see this beautiful view now. So hovering just above the rosy clouds, you take your time to admire the show of colors twisting and twirling together like professional dancers.
But sadly, your moment of relaxation is interrupted as angered shouts pierce through the clouds like a spear through flesh. Grumbling under your breath at the disturbance, you peer down through the thinning wisps. And just like that, your long-awaited peace is shattered, remnants swept away by the wind to a place you can’t retrieve it from.
Your blood runs cold, your heart freezing in the chill that wracks through you at the sight below. Through widened eyes, you watch as multiple groups of Aviants search the area far below, but they aren't just any Aviants. They are the queen's guard.
What it was:
Upon reaching the village, you mask your sadness and look around at the place you haven’t been for years. Seeing everyone walking about with smiles on their faces makes you feel happy. But you also feel a burst of deep, burning jealousy with how carefree they are.
You want to march up to them and ask what right they have to be joyful when they’ve kept you locked up for so long, but a bump on your leg stops you from doing so. Looking down, a medium-sized ball sits right behind your foot. Bending over and picking it up, you glance around to see where it came from.
What it is now:
Upon reaching the village, you mask your sadness and anger behind your curious gaze, looking around at the place you haven’t been to in years. You find yourself on the outskirts of the village square, the many shops lining the streets not having changed from what you can dredge up from your memory. There are stalls decorated with sparkling jewelry and beautiful beads strategically positioned where the sun's rays will cause them to shine and shimmer. Others are draped in a rainbow assortment of fabrics, anything from soft furs to velvety silks, to meet people's specific needs. Though most shops hold all types of food, meats, fruits, vegetables, breads, spices, oils, and so much more, all the ingredients utilized by surrounding stalls where delicious scents waft from to tickle your nose as they cook and bake to perfection.
People bustle through the streets, a good portion of them shopping at stalls, others passing through to return home or trying to wrangle their kids running amok. But most of them do it with wide smiles adorned on their faces. The sight has a small grin of your own curling upon your lips, their happiness contagious and almost having you joining in their untroubled and joyful nature. Almost. Because as quick as the smile blooming across your face in your cheerfulness starts to blossom, it burns away in a burst of deep, burning jealousy stoked by how carefree they are, leaving nothing but withering ashes.
You want to march up to them and ask what right they have to be so joyful. How they can be so cheerful when they've kept you, an innocent child, locked up for so long, cold, hungry, and confused about what she did wrong. And you were ready to. Ready to blow your cover and see if they felt even a hint of remorse for their actions when seeing what they'd done to you. But an impact on your leg stops you from doing so, the light collision enough to divert your burning rage to a tolerable simmer.
What it was:
Gulping nervously, you shrink in on yourself as the golden doors are pushed open, and you’re hauled into the decorated room. At the bottom of the ornate throne, you’re shoved to your knees. You stare at the floor in front of you and ignore the pain from your newly scraped legs.
“So,” you can hear the power in the queen’s voice as it echoes around the mostly empty room, “this is our little runaway?”
“Yes, your majesty. We found her out in the woods.”
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, evil one?”
What it is now:
Gulping nervously, you shrink in on yourself as much as the restrictive hands holding you allow. The sneers you're greeted with by a set of four guards on each side of the throne room entrance are not helping your already fraying nerves. You're relieved when their scorching glares are turned from you as they push open the golden doors, though your relief is short-lived as you're hauled into the glittering room to face the monster inside.
The throne room may be beautiful, sculpted in white marble and gold, with large floor-to-ceiling windows draped in velvet silk curtains that allow the sun to shine through, the rays casting everything they touch in an ethereal shimmer. But at the fact that this is where you will receive your punishment, all that beauty melts away into a dark pit of despair, drowning the wonder you held at the sight within its depths.
In truth, this place is not much different than your cellar at home. Bigger, yes. More extravagant, definitely. But it's just as cold and unforgiving, everything looming over you as if to taunt you for getting caught, shadows lashing as you walk past, shaking in their laughter of your inevitable punishment. And the one who sits above it all is none other than the queen herself, the very woman who embodies the wickedness she claims resides in you.
At the bottom of the ornate, jewel-encrusted throne, your progression is halted, and hands set upon you again. You're harshly shoved to your knees, the skin there scraps and tears at the impact, but your nerves keep you from voicing your discomfort over your newly abraded legs. Your head is forcibly lowered in a bow, neck bent painfully, and giving you no other choice but to stare at the floor in front of you. Though the action in itself is brutal, it may be a blessing in disguise as your eyes rove over the tiled floor, counting the scratches in the stone. The familiar habit grants you a bit of calm, and you're able to use it to keep yourself grounded, effectively ridding yourself of your body's trembling in the same process.
"So, this is our little runaway?" The power in the queen's voice echoes around the mostly empty room, drenched in a sickly sweetness used to conceal the sadistic ferocity just under the honeyed veil. Her tone is calm, soft even, but its intensity easily trumps that of the soldiers who caught you, and it tempts the return of tremors to ripple through you under its dominance.
"Yes, your majesty. We found her out in the woods."
"Do you have anything to say for yourself, evil one?"
