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Tag Archives: Fiction

#FantasyFriday #Freebie- A Full #FreeChapter of #AwardWinning #Epic #YA #Fantasy

29 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by Morgan in Dark Fey, Friday FeyDay / Fantasy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amazon Best Sellers, AmReading, Award Winning Fantasy, Books, Epic Fantasy, Fiction, Free Read, FreeBooks, What to Read, YA Fantasy, YABook

Wondering if you might like Dark Fey? I’ve decided to GIVE you an Entire Chapter to decide. And not just any Chapter, The Pinnacle Chapter; the one I wrote first; the one around which the rest of the story is built. So pour yourself a beverage, sit back in a quiet room (or the local pub, depending) and Enjoy this Fantasy Freebie. 🙂 (And for those of you who’ve already read this…or the entire book, MANY MANY thank Yous!!)

Arvansys 1

Chapter Six

The forests of Jyndari were vast and Hwyndarin was set nearly in the heart of the ancient woodland: with good reason. On the coast, storms and high winds could sweep in from the oceans or roll off the heights of the Trynnari Mountains and threaten both the stability of essential Light and the equally indispensable treasures of learning collected through the ages, but deep in the center of the primordial forest storms were seldom a threat or even a consideration. Hwyndarin had been chosen millennia ago as the seat of all learning and artistry for this especial reason, for here the precious tomes from thousands of years of wisdom could be housed safely and here the artisan’s treasures could be protected. Yet infrequently, a significantly powerful tempest would press back the borders of the forest and shatter the tranquility of that peaceful village.

The late November day had been extraordinarily fair, but the night brought with it gales and pouring icy rain of unparalleled fury that tore at the canopy above Hwyndarin like a giant running its hand over a field of wheat. Boughs and branches crashed down on the village rooftops, rain pelted down like daggers in blinding torrents, and blazing bolts of jagged lightening with resounding clangors of thunder tore the sky repeatedly asunder.

Ayla was guarding the infant of a family called away in grief over the loss of a loved one and had been enjoying a peaceful evening in the quiet solitude of her home with the child. Now, as a bellow of thunder shook her small cottage and the hammering of rain pounded over their heads she held the child close in her arms. She hushed his wailing with a soft, melodic tune, but a furious gust of air blasted open the shuttered windows and shredded her voice. Instantly, her glowing home was pitched into darkness as the gale extinguished every lantern and the child’s shriek of fear mimicked her own.

Her thoughts spun in a panic. A mirror stood in darkness in her boudoir, the child’s cribroom lay in shadows, and the corridor along which she had to travel to reach either held no window, only darkness that could conceal The Reviled, yet, she knew she had to light at least a single candle and she had to brighten the mirror immediately. Each second it stood in blackness was an opportunity for crossing. Racing to the nearest cabinet, she fumbled with the beeswax taper she found there and whispered one of many, simple spells she used frequently in her daily life.

“Luxay,” she said in a commanding tone and the wick popped into flame. The room flickered between shadow and light, yet, it was only a single candle. Should she light more or should she race to the mirror? A mirror left in darkness cries out to be crossed. The recitation she had repeated for years in her youth now played over and over in her mind, but she could not risk entering a room with a darkened mirror while holding a baby in her arms, ripe for the taking. She was a Guardian; her first duty was to protect the innocent.

Clutching her candle, she drew a deep breath, kissed the tot’s head reassuringly and darted along the hall toward his cribroom. A small lantern stood upon his night table, she only need reach it and light it in order to keep him safe. She stopped at the darkened doorway and peered inside, her sight piercing the ebon shades and her own glimmering aura lending illumination. Stepping into the dark interior, she reached immediately for the lantern, yet even as she touched its cool, brass sheath a shadow contracted in the far corner of the room and she froze in instinctive terror.

The shadow grew darker, denser, then spread outward into the dimness of the room not brightened by Ayla’s small candle. Roshwyn in her arms squealed and began to cry louder and she cradled him more tightly, protecting him with her diaphanous wings as her mind spun in alarm.

Light the lantern! Speak the words of protection! Flee!

It was too late.

A Dark One stepped out of the shadows and glared at them with ophidian eyes. The flame in her hand guttered and threatened to go out, but she had no other means of protecting it than repeating her lighting spell with a timorous tone. Shadow swirled about the Dark One like smoke curling around embers and she watched in perfect dread as he slowly reached out his hand toward them.

Light the lantern! Speak the words of protection! Flee!

Years of training screamed at her from within the spiraling depths of her mind, but fear held her transfixed. He stepped closer, his dark eyes glimmering in the fluttering light of her candle, his hand outstretched toward them, toward the child. Light the lantern! Speak the words of protection! Flee!

“Luxay!” Ayla turned toward the lantern and shouted her lighting spell, gasping in relief when the wick snapped into flame, but the Dark One flexed his immense wings and directed a current of air across the room that extinguished both flames, the one she held and the one inside the lantern, in the same moment. Roshwyn screamed and Ayla jerked backwards toward the door, but in an instant, the Dark One was upon them and she stood, paralyzed by dread, her aura shrinking to a feeble glimmer in her terror. The Dark One stared down at her with unreadable eyes, then reached for the squalling child.

“Do not take him.” She pleaded; her voice a mere thread. Remarkably, the Dark One paused, regarding her with his snake-like gaze, but the wailing child could not be ignored. He raised his hand once more and uttered a single word in the vile Dlalth tongue, the language of The Lost.

“Gvyndlal.” Ayla stared at the demon-fey standing before her with utter surprise. As Roshwyn’s wailing subsided and his squirming ceased, she shook her head and struggled to translate the word he had spoken. Gvyndlal? Sleep? The Dark One had said only Sleep?

“Sleep?” She gazed down at the quiet babe in her arms in amazement, then back at the Dark One still glowering over them. Her aura expanded, illuminating his dark silhouette and she beheld, for the first time, one of The Reviled.

He dwarfed her diminutive stature by at least fourteen inches and had a lithe, powerfully muscular physique. His shoulder length hair was the color of shimmering ice, both white and silver. He wore a full-length coat with burnished gold lacings and buttons, with armor-like plates embellishing his broad shoulders and with dark crimson and vibrant silver silk accentuating the deep lapels of the coat he wore open across his broad chest. The multiple belts and chokers crisscrossing his close fitted vest, his pants and boots; all were black leather with similar burnished gold fittings and, although she never would have imagined a Dark One dressing so strikingly, he wore a double flounced cravat and golden choker with an enormous ruby glimmering from its heart.

His vast dragon-like pinions were deep black and blood-red, stretching fully twice his height in length, yet with vicious spines at each joint and tip they seemed even larger and were hideously frightful to behold. His complexion was the unmistakable sallow pallor of the Reviled.

Gairynzvl 2

“Put the child in his crib.” He said unexpectedly, his calm baritone voice sending a violent shiver through her. She hesitated; if she released Joshwyn, he would be lost.

“Put the child in his crib.” The Dark One repeated in a more imposing tone. Ayla jolted into motion, but shook with uncontrolled fear.

“Please, do not take him.” She whined piteously. The Dark One scowled at her impatiently and stepped closer, pointing insistently at the small cot in the corner of the room. She shuddered visibly at his nearness and shrank away, wholly intimidated by him, but he did something Ayla never would have anticipated. He stepped past her towards the doorway and glanced out into the ebon darkness of the cottage.

“Light your candle, speak your protections and leave him in his cradle.” He insisted through gritted teeth, urgency marking his every word. She stared at him perplexed, but only for a moment. Turning to look down upon Roshwyn, she relit her small candle, as well as the lantern, and began her intonation of protection. The words and light made the Dark One step out into the shadows of the hall, as if they sickened him, but they did not banish him back to the realm of Uunglarda as she had always thought they would. When she finished, Ayla turned with a knife of uncertainty twisting in her stomach, but before she had time to consider her next actions, he lunged into the room, grasped her by the wrist and drew her out into the dark corridor.

She recognized her folly immediately. In striving to protect the child, she had unwittingly sacrificed herself. In the darkness of the hall as he dragged her unfalteringly toward the only room in her home containing a mirror, she recalled the dire and dreadful warnings given to all young fey as they entered youth. A mirror never stood in a sleeping chamber for a mirror could never be left in darkness. Should a Dark One cross over, he would open the portal the mirror provided and summon his legion. Then they would cross in untold numbers visiting such vile acts of upon the young fey as could never be named. They would only return into their own realm when the first light of the sun crossed the horizon, leaving ruination and despair in their wake and, oftentimes, death.

“No!” She shrieked in absolute horror, straining against his grasp, leaning away from him, scratching at his hand, beating her wings with every ounce of strength she possessed, but her resistance seemed more an inconvenience to him than a problem. Tugging her along behind him, he strode purposefully into her boudoir, her private chamber of preparation, and turned toward the mirror. Raising his free hand toward the reflecting glass, he arched his wings as if setting himself against a foe and closed his eyes, beginning an incantation that was not spoken in the Dlalth tongue, but in a language she did not immediately recognize.

Where were all the spells of protection she had learned as a child? How could she have forgotten after repeating them, literally, thousands of times until she was weary of speaking? Her mind spun, her terror choked her, her breath came in ragged gasps, she shook like a willow in a November wind, but she could still hear him speaking in the mysterious language and, in spite of her fear, she could not prevent the shred of curiosity that made her pause and glance up at him. She realized in that brief moment of clarity that his hand around her wrist was not an iron of restriction, clamped around her like a manacle. In fact, astonishingly, he was not hurting her at all.

 

The mirror creaked like ice shifting on a frozen river, the sound making her tremble more fiercely. He was opening the portal. Desperation inundated her like a spring flood and she pulled against his restraining grasp more vehemently, but he did not even turn his head. Hauling her up against his side, he crossed his arm over her shoulders and pinned her against him, turning the edge of one broad wing toward her furious thrashings to threaten any further resistance with a glinting, ten-inch spine.

Suddenly, her training returned to her and words of protection filled her mind. She gasped them out in haste, but her voice was little more than a choked squeak. Regardless of the weakness in her chanting however, his reaction was instantaneous. Pausing in his invocation, he turned his head to look down at her with obvious irritation, pressed the cruel barb on his wing to the soft skin under her chin and raised his hand from her shoulder to cover her mouth. There was nothing more she could do to protect herself. She had been defeated in her first and only battle. She knew she was utterly lost.

Turning back to the mirror, he began again, the unrecognizable words ringing in her ears like chimes spinning her senses. She was falling under his spell. She was unable to struggle, unable to speak her own protection, unable to do anything other than listen as he opened the portal and wrought her destruction. Yet even in her panic-stricken state, she could not prevent her overly inquisitive mind from lucidly noting that his hand, pressed over her mouth, was not hurting her. He did not bruise her lips under the ferocity of his contact; he did not wrench her head backward with cruel disregard; he did not restrict her breathing. He was simply thwarting her ability to speak.

Why was he being so shockingly careful about not hurting her? Why had he permitted her to protect Roshwyn with Light as well as spell? Why had he pulled the nursery door closed quietly before proceeding to drag her down the hallway toward the mirror? She could not comprehend his entirely incongruous behavior. Moreover, she had always been told The Reviled were cold-blooded, heartless creatures; that the touch of a Dark Fey was icy as death itself, yet, pressed up against him as she was his surprising warmth was undeniable.

The mirror creaked more loudly, drawing her back to the horror of her present situation and, with these calamitous musings confusing her thoughts, she strained to see around his vast pinions and broad shoulders to watch the mirror with morbid curiosity.

Tiny shards like crystalline ice were stretching across the reflective pane, each splinter a minuscule prism that reflected any spark of light in the room, even the ineffectual glimmer of her diminishing aura and his ethereal, dark crimson glow. With each word he spoke, the crystals increased, growing in number, dimension and intensity until they spread across the glass like frost on a winter window. Scraping and creaking like snow scrunching underfoot on the coldest day, the shards in the mirror began to reflect their own luminosity and as he continued to speak the luster of the mirror intensified.

The Mirror

Then the mirror resounded with a deafening crack and she flinched abruptly away, a sharp cry escaping her muffled mouth. Even the Dark One recoiled from the force of the sound and fell silent. Petrified, she squeezed her eyes tightly closed and held her breath. He had opened the portal; his kind would soon rush in and then she would pray for death long before it would come. In her terror, she could not breathe, blackness swirled at the edges of her mind, and her knees grew weak. Almost imperceptibly, she began to collapse, sliding down the length of his strong frame with no measure of power left within her to break her fall.

Without a sound, the Dark One turned his head to look down at her and released her. He did not drop her or throw her to the floor like a worn out plaything; he took her by the shoulder and by the hand and lowered her to the floor at his feet. Her thoughts swirled at this additional peculiarity and, before she lost herself to fear completely and was swallowed up by blackness, she opened her eyes to peer up at him wanly, utterly bewildered.

The room was bathed in Light! The mirror was intact, not lying in a multitude of shattered pieces on the floor as she had expected, and, somehow, it stood aglow with radiant, incandescent Light that sparkled and reflected in its own shimmering! Blinking woozily in the brilliance, she gazed up at him and drew a deep breath.

What had he done?

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Discover More About Dark Fey on its official website

The Reviled
Standing in Shadows
Breaking Into The Light

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~Morgan~
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Beautiful Forest Artwork by: Rongrong Wang
Amazing Dark Fey Illustration by: Hgjart at Deviantart.com
Mirror Image found on Google.

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Angel of Mercy- #Fantasy #WIP #Teaser

11 Thursday Jul 2019

Posted by Morgan in The Mercy Series

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Angels, Book Teasers, BooknVolume, Dystopian, Fantasy, Fiction, Mystery, new Books, Readers, Revelations, Romance, the Four Horsemen, ~Morgan~

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My current WIP Angel of Mercy just passed 100K words today!  I’m really excited because none of my previous 3 books even came close to that many. No diss to Dark Fey, I love my trilogy, though I do often wish I could go back and add more to the story, but right now I’m focused entirely on Angel.  What is this new story about?  I’m so glad you asked….

Its a Post Apocalyptic Fantasy Romance. It tells the story of life after the first 3 Horsemen, Pestilence, War and Famine, have ridden. In the 4th Era after the Great Cataclysm, (roughly 400 years in the future) the final horseman, Death, is caged and waiting on the Archangel of Mercy to release him. Tzadkiel has been sent to earth in human form to find one human who still understands Mercy. He has been given 100 years, after which Death must be released. With only 4 years remaining, he finds her; a servant named Lourdes, but they must escape the harsh dictatorship of the Eminent Protectorate and find a place of sanctuary before the appointed hundred years are spent and Death is freed from the abyss.

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Intrigued?  Me too!  So in honor of this momentous occasion I’m sharing a short teaser too!

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Her moan drew him out of the dark well of agony he had become so accustomed to and he opened his eyes to look around uncertainly.  He thought he had heard speaking, but could not combat the heavy darkness pulling him downward; yet this soft sound drew him back. Surely it had not been a manifestation of his mind.  Had it?  Was this sound some indication that his mind was attempting to disengage from his tortured body?  Was it like the screams he had heard only moments ago, just a figment of his imagination? Had it been only moments ago or had he slipped into unconsciousness and they had actually been nothing but a dream?  Or perhaps days ago?

His thoughts were a tangle of pain and confusion that made him doubt himself, but then another soft noise beside the table captured his full attention.  Was it crying?  Was it an animal that had found its way into the chamber or had the young servant returned? His thoughts spun for a moment as he considered. Was this even the same day as when he had seen her?  He had no point of reference; his memory was a disjointed haze of anguish, torment, and severing isolation that fragmented his thought into pools of jagged darkness.  They spun slowly, reaching for him, drawing him inward and the quiet calm at its center was irresistible.

He closed his eyes again.

Silence deep and soothing.

Stillness.

“You do not need to suffer this.”  A deep, resonant voice filled the obscurity surrounding him. It encircled his essence like spiraling water, pulling him up from the pit into which he had fallen.  He was himself again, vibrant and strong, the spiritual embodiment of mercy in its purest form. Turning slowly, he searched the blackness for the one who spoke.

“I know.”  His voice echoed as well.

“They only hurt you because you allow it.”  Again, the deep voice echoed into the gloom.  He nodded distractedly, the sensation of the absence of pain euphoric.

“I know.”  The diffuse light surrounding him shifted from golden-white to murky red.

“I wait.” He suddenly understood. It was the one behind him, waiting to be released, waiting for him to be satisfied that there were no longer any living souls of mercy left among the lost throng of humanity, but he wasn’t convinced this was true.  Not yet.  He repeated himself more assertively.

“I know.”

“Time grows short.”  He understood this as well.  He had been given 100 years.  If a single soul could not be found in so vast a stretch of time, then it would be accepted that none remained and the final Horseman, Death, would be released. He had waited all this time, but was obviously growing impatient.  Squaring his shoulders, Tzadkiel pierced the darkness with his deep violet gaze and spoke formidably.

“100 years has been appointed and I shall not be rushed.”  Slowly the murky-red haze diminished back into darkness as a low growl acknowledged the final Horseman’s acceptance that he would continue to wait.

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

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Angel of Mercy #Preview of a #FantasyCharacter

30 Tuesday Apr 2019

Posted by Morgan in The Mercy Series

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Angels, BnV, Book Teaser, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fantasy Characters, Fiction, Post-Apocalyptic, ~Morgan~

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As a result of the recent poll I took on WP, as well as Facebook, I was finally able to dress my main character from Angel of Mercy.

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The uniform Lévesque had given him was that of a regimental officer made of black leather that did not immediately impress, particularly when folded up lying upon a blood-stained table.  The black leather pants were snug, trimmed with gold embroidery and dressed by a triplet of golden buttons embossed with the Eminent Protectorate’s seal on either side of this trim just below the hip.  The snug-fitting coat was also embroidered with golden trim, set off smartly by a double row of similar golden buttons that ran along the outside length of the coat and collar. Individual straps of black leather closed the coat by crossing the front of it from one button to the other, while epaulettes, which also bore the EP seal and looping golden fringes, were set off by two golden cords ornamentally draping the neckline.

Black leather boots with lacings and a wide leather belt completed the ensemble and after putting everything on, he walked with a purposeful stride to the small dais upon which Jshunamir was displayed.  Taking up his own baldric of soft gray leather, the only thing that remained from what he had been wearing on the day he encountered Lévesque, he cinched it loosely round his hips and picked up his sword.  Unstained and untarnished, though it had not been cleaned, it glittered as beautifully as it did on the day it was forged; it’s inlaid runes glimmering with a silvery light all their own. Sheathing it, he turned back toward the table, noticing Lourdes at last who stood watching him with an unguarded stare.

Smiling subtly, he met her gaze, the deep lavender of his eyes searching hers, but she closed her and looked down at the bundle she carried, clearly unable to express herself.  Crossing the floor with an unhurried stride, he looked down at himself and then back to her with an openly curious expression.

“Does it suit me? I think it’s a bit,” he paused, seeking the correct word, but she finished his sentence for him, her tone openly approving.

“Magnificent.”

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Tzadkiel is the Archangel of Mercy, sent to earth in the 4th era after the first of the Four Horsemen have ridden. He is looking for one human among those who remain who still understands Mercy.  He’s been looking for nearly 100 years, but he’s finally found her…a young servant named Lourdes.

Just a taste of the work in progress….

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

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Input Requested – #MainCharacter Polll

26 Friday Apr 2019

Posted by Morgan in The Mercy Series

≈ Leave a comment

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Angels, Book poll, Books, Characters, creative writing, Fantasy, Fantasy Characters, Fiction, Goth Military

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I’m looking for a bit of fun input. My main character in Angel of Mercy needs to wear a military uniform during a portion of the story. It’s 400 years in the future and I’m going for a goth military look.  Oh, and just for clarity, in the story his wings are not visible.

I’ve narrowed it down to these. Which one do you like best?

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Thanks !

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

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Angel of Mercy – A #Post-Apocalyptic #Fantasy #Fiction #Book #Teaser

09 Tuesday Apr 2019

Posted by Morgan in The Mercy Series

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Book Teasers, Books, Fantasy, Fantasy Books, Fantasy Characters, Fiction, Post-Apocalyptic, Reading, Work in Progress, Writing

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My current work in progress is practically telling itself.  Though I started it about a year ago, and then had nearly a year long hiatus from writing of any kind while I moved, found a decent job, and got sorted, the story has recently re-captured my attention.  So much so, in fact, that I almost feel like I’m taking dictation.  Already 22K words and only at Chapter 5, Angel of Mercy is more than filling my thoughts, it’s renewed a true passion within me I feared I lost. Words flow again in beautiful abundance and I am overjoyed!

Overjoyed….and eager to share some of the growing tale! It tells the story of life after the first 3 Horsemen, Pestilence, War and Famine, have ridden.  In the 4 Era after the Great Cataclysm,(roughly 400 years in the future)  the final horseman, Death is accompanied by the Archangel of Mercy, who is sent to find at least one person among those who remain who is merciful.  He has been searching for almost 100 years….

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Patience was his essence, clemency his soul.  He had never known resentfulness, rage, or pain.  All the years of his long life, which numbered in countless eons, he had been the personification of compassion, empathy, and forgiveness; yet now as the dark hours of agony and harrowing loneliness he endured drug on, his thoughts twisted in a tumultuous commotion of wrath and determination. Those who abused him deserved the wrath that pierced his benevolent essence with its ferocity, and the one he had been sent to find merited the determination that implored him to wait, despite the intensifying desire to pour out the ferocity of his wrath on those who abused him.  The horrifying cycle of tempestuous emotion became a maelstrom that threatened to undo him, separate him from everything he knew about himself, and create in the void a monster of abhorrent violence.

His brothers, those who had preceded him, wrought justice for all who had been victimized during the ages that had passed since the beginning.  All of beautiful creation was not subject to the trials they unleashed.  During the cataclysms, the earth’s population diminished on a vast scale, but the plant and animal-life of the planet recovered from the subjugation it had suffered under the ungainly rule of the humans. Those who felt the full extent of the justice his brothers released had sown the seeds of their destruction through their own despicable actions.  Whether through the sickness they poured from their souls like plague, through the violence they perpetrated on the meek, or through the deprivation of their cruel disregard, Pestilence, War, and Famine were sent to match their own.

He had been sent to find one that matched himself; one kindred spirit among the multitudes that was the embodiment of mercy. Although he had searched unsuccessfully for nearly a century, he could not accept there was no one. None, but him?  It was incomprehensible.  So he continued to search, to wait, and through waiting, he accepted the abuse forced upon him by the children of the lost.

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I would love to hear what you think…and if this entices you to want more 🙂

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

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#WorkInProgress – Angel of Mercy – A #PostApocalyptic #Psychological #Romantic #Fantasy #Mystery?

10 Sunday Mar 2019

Posted by Morgan in The Mercy Series

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Angels, BooknVolume, creative writing, Dystopian, Fantasy, Fiction, Mystery, new Books, Readers, Revelations, Romance, the Four Horsemen, ~Morgan~

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Two brief excerpts from my current – well, one of two current – Works In Progress. Not entirely sure how to categorize it yet, maybe you can tell me…Its set in the future, AFTER the beginning of the Biblical Apocalypse. It’s about mortals and Immortals, Hate and Love, Fear and Romance. Yes it will have STEAM, Violence, Spirituality and a hint of Dsytopian flair. It tells the story of life after the first 3 Horsemen, Pestilence, War and Famine, have ridden.  In the 4 Era after the Great Cataclysm, the final horseman, Death is accompanied by the Archangel of Mercy, who is sent to find at least one person among those who remain who is merciful.  He has been searching for almost 100 years….

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Year 96 of the 4th Era after the Great Cataclysm: Le Bastion de la Résolution, – Marçais, Olde France

She was only a scullery maid. Nothing. No one. She was as unimportant as the scraps she cleaned up and just as forgettable. She had been her entire life and nothing would ever change that. She knew it and she expected nothing. Ever since she was five years old she understood that those around her were far better than she. Her life was trivial and meaningless; she accepted it.

Those she served were as far above her as she was above the barn rats. Her betters were interesting, beautiful, wealthy, and above all, powerful. When they spoke, others rushed to serve; where they wished to go, others made way. They were inaccessible and inescapable. Officers of the Eminent Protectorate and their families, they outranked even the nobles of the land and none questioned them. The Eminent Protectorate were the elite of society and to serve them was a privilege most could only dream of in a world where poverty was common-place, where being healthy was a rare distinction among the masses of Mortal Plague, and where Time had stopped……..

Every night she could hear the screams. Harrowing, they kept her awake many long nights while she leaned from her small window in the servant’s tower desperately trying to locate their source, but the stone walls of the bastion sent echoes pealing in all directions. They broke her heart, at first, but after many weeks of hearing them she’d grown accustomed to the noise. It wasn’t so much that they didn’t affect her anymore, but she accepted them, just as she accepted her own plight. The Eminent Protectorate could not and would not be questioned about them, or about anything they did, so whoever the poor soul was, they were doomed to bear whatever was happening without any more hope of rescue than she might wish for. Less. ……

Year 86 of the 4th Era after the Great Cataclysm: The Coast of Calais, Olde France

He stood on the vast ocean shore, his back to what was left of a once vibrant land as his brilliant, violet gaze searched the empty miles of gray ocean. His essence listened for any sign of life, a heartbeat remaining among the silence of the deeps, but not a single pulse broke the deathly hush. Pestilence had done his job too well. Nothing remained. All that was once beautiful, colorful and diverse was gone.

The thought pained him and he closed his eyes, bowing his head to mourn what had been sacrificed and all that had been lost. No terns cried upon the ocean breeze; no laughing gulls sang praise to the skies, there was only the sound of the waves rushing and breaking upon the rocky shore and the hollow moan of the wind. Without wings to dance upon it, the air itself seemed barren and grief-stricken. Without the song of the lark to cheer the entrance of the day or the carol of the robin to serenade the evening, the entire earth grieved in heavy silence. The ruddy glimmer of the late day sun, slowly fading into a crimson haze, played through the lengths of his blonde hair and sparkled across the perfection of his features. Standing there at the beginning of such a vast emptiness, he was the most beautiful sight for countless miles.

Behind him, a thunder of hooves pounded across the beach and the curses of men accosted the quietness.  He did not turn to face them as they formed a perimeter around him, barricading him against the sea, nor did he immediately answer when they demanded to know who he was; instead, he closed his violet eyes and sighed wearily.  Nothing had changed, even after three horrifying cataclysms had shaken the foundations of the world; hate, suspicion and fear still ruled those who remained.

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I welcome your thoughts and feedback 😉

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by Jules-Joseph-Augustin Laurens (top) and by aenaluck.deviantart.com (bottom)

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Passage Finale- Soul Mates – #FlashFiction

04 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 2 Comments

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage time stands still

.

His senses spun; his heart hammered; he was irresistibly drawn to her. She no longer whispered, but he could hear her still; the beguiling sound of that which made her exquisitely her resounded within him.

Unconcerned about the watching star-beings, who no longer laughed, but shimmered their light as if smiling, he stepped forward and gazed down into her upturned face. Drinking in the soft blush of her cheek, the delicate smile turning her lips, and the lush glimmer in her eyes, he reached to touch her and, with that contact, his heart blazed with passionate yearning.

He Remembered Her.

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The End.

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~Morgan~

Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

Part Six – Laughter

Part Seven – His Aura

Part Eight – Transfixed

Part Nine – Bathed In Light

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Nine- Bathed In Light – #FlashFiction

04 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 1 Comment

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage time stands still

.

Never had she seen another being like him. Blue eyes, pale skin, and yellow hair proclaimed he was far from his own realm and more astonishing than she ever could have imagined. Tall and strong, with odd cloth ornamentation covering his body and bizarre black embellishments in his skin, he was both handsome and bewildering.

He returned her shocked stare, the liquescent blue of his gaze skating away repeatedly, then returning. Lissome and beautiful, she stood bathed in translucent light he had not noticed from the distance; a star-being in humanesque form, yet entirely unclothed.

His aura shifted; she smiled.

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~Morgan~

Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

Part Six – Laughter

Part Seven – His Aura

Part Eight – Transfixed

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Seven- His Aura – #FlashFiction

03 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 1 Comment

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

aura

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The intensity of his ire radiated outward through his aura, gleaming into the shadowlight. The scarlet glimmer muffled the insidious laughter assaulting him and many of the lights streaked back into the safety of the sky like stars falling in reverse. Others danced round his head like moths drawn to a flame and these he cursed at brazenly, though his unintelligible words only provoked choruses of additional laughter.

Glancing past the annoying entities, he scanned the horizon for the female who had ceased to sing and saw her lithe silhouette lingering amidst the shadows of barren rock.

His aura shifted.

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~Morgan~

Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

Part Six – Laughter

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Stock artwork found on google images. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original artist. Thank You~

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Passage Part Six- Laughter – #FlashFiction

03 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 1 Comment

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

passage

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Looking round, he realized the stars had drawn closer, much closer. No longer shimmering in the distance, they hovered round him, pressing inward as the cacophony of laughter intensified. His ears rang with the tumult; his senses spun, but worse than the dizzying discordance was the scourge of anger that flared within him.

He didn’t like being laughed at, particularly by unseen phantoms lingering in the ethereal void into which he had plunged. Growling with ire, he pushed himself up from the parched ground and glared upward at the stars, which glared back, diverted by his blunder.

Breaths became blades…

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~Morgan~

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Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

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Stock Image found at HD Backgrounds

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Passage Part Five- Beguiling – #FlashFiction

03 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage time stands still

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Focused on the lissome silhouette in the distance, outlined against an ocean of night, his quickened pace mirrored his rushing pulse. She continued to whisper, her voice beguilingly close, as if she stood beside right him, speaking ever so softly in his ear and his thoughts spun.

Unable to concentrate upon the rocky terrain as her curves and slender limbs came more fully into view, he stumbled more than once, cursed at his clumsiness; then went sprawling into the dust.

An onslaught of vicious laughter ensued; echoing round him from nowhere and everywhere, and when it began, her whispers ceased.

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~Morgan~

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.

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Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

.

Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Four – Her Voice – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 3 Comments

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage time stands still

.

Her voice filled his mind; a soliloquy of sound unlike anything he had ever heard. Temptation borne upon the breeze, her whispers spun his thoughts and made his heart hammer; in spite of the fact he could neither understand the language nor hear her intelligibly.

The barren terrain stretched out before him; an expanse as empty as his life had been, up until the moment he had chosen to step through the portal, anyway. The sky over head seemed the only thing to shift as he trudged across fields of pebbles and shale, but her voice drew him onward.

Then, in the distance, a shape appeared against the star-jeweled horizon.

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~Morgan~

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Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Three- The Void – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 2 Comments

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Micro Fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage time stands still

.

Stepping into the shimmering darkness of the landscape, he cast about him seeking the speaker whose voice seemed to echo from the distance louder than it spoke from the nearby. Soft, subtle, a whisper drifting on the insubstantial breeze; her voice drew him like an intoxication he could not deny and serrated through him, as chilling as ice drawn across exposed skin.

The barren surroundings offered no evidence of her existence. Stretching outward toward a rose-hued horizon awash with stars, the rocky terrain undulated like a serpent, beguiling perception and tempting intrepidity. Her voice compelled him into the void.

He followed.

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~Morgan~

.

. This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Two-Time Stood Still – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 3 Comments

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage time stands still

.

Time stood still, a product of perception; perhaps a fragment of the imagination only, which was neither tangible nor incorporeal. He stood looking into the figment, wonder expanding through his thoughts like a mirror replicating that which he saw, stretching, reaching into the unknown.

Where had he come? What place filled his gaze? A dark encapsulation of mystery sparkled in his eyes; innumerable points of light filling what once stood empty, alone; and that bejeweled cacophony of silence reflected in his liquescent gaze as a whisper just above the point of perception hinted he was not alone.

A feminine voice.

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~Morgan~

.

. This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

.

Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part One – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by Morgan in Flash Fiction and Shorts

≈ 5 Comments

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BnV, BooknVolume, creative writing, Fantasy, Fiction, Flash fiction, Mystical Portal, Photo Prompt, Writephoto, Writing Challenge, Writing Prompt, ~Morgan~

Passage

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The well stood waiting, pristine, ready. A passage into the beyond; a portal primed and dedicated to its cause. The mystery of its magic drew him to its glistening side and enraptured his stare as musings tumbled in a myriad directions.

Where would this lost vestige of time transport him and what race of people would he encounter after crossing?

A doorway into the past; an entrance into realms unknown; the portal sparkled in the morning light’s splendor, awaiting his decision. Step into the precariously unfamiliar or remain amid the languid familiarity of his present reality.

Smiling, he stepped within.

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~Morgan~

This 100-word Flash Fiction story was written in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

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