Post the first three paragraphs of your novels!

hannahlaine 2019-10-07 20:01:54 UTC #115

The heavy iron door swung open and slammed against the stone wall of the small room. The deafening boom of the door echoed through the cold moss-covered cell. Small fragments of dust and stone showered down from the ceiling. The cell was not a large space, only measuring six by four strides. A mixture of piss, mud, sweat, and blood covered the stone floors; causing a foul odor to fill the air. The light that flooded into the cell only highlighting the filthy state of the prison. An empty tin plate - that once held stale bread and molded cheese - lay discarded on the floor next to an overturned tin cup.

Amongst the dirt and grim, sat a statue-like girl. She had a petite frame, accented by malnourishment. With her back pressed against the stone wall, she sat with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. Dirt smeared across her face and her body. Her long midnight blue hair matted with dirt and oil. From under her hair, the sharp-pointed tips of her ears poked out, marking her as fae.

For Lady Railynn Leona Tal, daily guard visits had become expected. Being a prisoner of Arden had done little to quiet the wildness that lurked inside her. The horrible prison was known for breaking its captives. Even the makeup of the walls, made from both iron and stone, was made to hold and weaken faeries. Some were even driven mad by the iron.

nouranmeidarous 2019-10-07 23:51:10 UTC #116

In the middle of great nothingness is the great palace of the divines. Where it all made of clear crystal glass that only reflects what standing outside which is nothing but whiteness and glory. A heavenly deep voice echoed the palace vibrating the walls threatening it to break into pieces followed by tens of voices similar yet not as strong as the first one.

“Enough,” the voice said with a sharp knock on a glass. The vision became clearer revealing what behind the mighty walls. An endless white place with five glass tables and chairs occupied with five people looking anxious and furious. The tables were arranged in a letter U shape. Behind the tables were hundreds of people standing sharply.

Everyone dressed the same; in a white maxi long selves robes with hoods covering their heads. Each one had an enchanted beauty that is impossible for man’s eye to sustain. Their sharp crystal-clear eyes were staring angrily at one person standing right in the middle across from the five tables.

Lola 2019-10-08 01:23:03 UTC #117

First three paragraphs:
“Get away from me!” I hear a girl scream but do I care? No. She was as good as dead as soon as she messed with the Mafia. She had been going around telling everyone in this neighborhood that we shouldn't be scared of them and that we should stop paying their heavy taxes. But, if she couldn’t overpower them, she shouldn’t have provoked them in the first place. I calmly walked past them, pretending to not see anything.

“Help me,” she begs, “Please.” I look at her. Her face is stained with blood and tears, as well as many cuts and bruises. I can tell that she was fighting, but one girl and ten men in black suits armed with guns and knives? She would not make it out alive, especially since the men were not gonna back away without killing her.

I looked at her a bit longer and kneeled down in front of her, “Listen kid. If you can't beat the Mafia than don’t mess with them.” Then I got up and left. I could feel the Men staring at me, piercing a hole through my head.The girl looked at me with shock and began shouting curse words at me. I stuck in my earbuds and continued walking down the street, but even with music blasting in my ears, I heard several gunshots in which ended the girls life. If they were gonna kill a girl they should’ve at least ended it in one shot, I thought to myself.

CarltonIsaac 2019-10-10 09:50:38 UTC #118

Not the Lady Death I know of, but just as interesting. The show element is very vivid in these first three paragraphs and sells the need to know more.
Subbing!

Zaboem 2019-10-12 18:44:06 UTC #119

The First Pages Anthology is online now. Only the introduction has been published, but the published, but two additional episodes are uploaded and scheduled for release over the next two days.

Okaishy 2019-10-12 20:25:22 UTC #120

It's always there.

The tingling feeling in the back of my head that keeps on nagging me. I never seem to be in the right place, never fitting anywhere.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t try to find my place. To find a little corner in this too big of a world where I feel a little bit at ease. But the feeling never goes away. It follows me everywhere and anywhere. No matter where I go I come face to face with my reality, as if it was something bigger than me from which I shall never escape.

burginlewis 2019-10-12 20:49:15 UTC #121

Just before midnight, in the middle of the stolen lands, three men crouched in an overgrown forest.

The men were known as Watchman, Scavenger and Prophet. They had other names, of course, but it had been a long time since anyone used them. The trio had concealed themselves in a kudzu grove that was teeming with mosquitoes and smelled of pine needles and decay. The men ignored the bugs and the scents and the sounds of an approaching storm as best they could. Their attention was fixed on a small A-frame cabin, the front of which was almost entirely glass. They stayed perfectly still, and they watched.

Waiting for the old man to appear.

Clare_Cassidy 2019-10-13 05:19:43 UTC #122

TOTO 2019-10-16 19:10:52 UTC #123

Aaaah I'm sorry (>///<)

Thank you for your kind words (>///<)b

~~TOTO

CarltonIsaac 2019-10-17 01:28:30 UTC #124

"Ironhand?" The dark haired man inquired.

"Yes." She peered out the half open door.

“You are Uther Ironhand, the fabled blacksmith?” The incredulity in his tone of voice did not surprise her.

“He was my father, I am Ethel.” She replied impassively, ignoring the wide eyed look the man standing outside her door gave her. “I run the smithy now, but the hour is late and we are closed.”

“If you have half your legendary father’s skill, then I have come to the right place.” The man peered over her broad shoulder to get a look inside. He was as tall as she, slender of build and dressed in form fitting leather jerkin over a fine silk shirt, dark leggings and expensive leather boots. His moderately handsome face did little to impress her, finely groomed moustache or no. “I have heard much of Uther’s fame and am in need of a weapon of his workmanship.”

“I have all the skills my father taught me and more.” Ethel kept her voice cold, setting an errant strand of her long blonde hair back into place. “But we are closed for the day, old man... come back in the morning.”

MirandaDrawss 2019-10-18 00:09:57 UTC #125

The scratch of hundreds of quills against rough parchment echoed in the air around Obsidian. For what felt to him like the thousandth time, he dipped the tip of his Peregrine feather into the inkwell and swept his eyes over the final question.
Explain the importance of dialect and accents during incantations, including how different accents affect a spell’s performance and if spells require variation based on region or location.
Oh boy, he thought. He fluffed the end of his quill against his temple as he struggled to recall the enthusiastic lectures of his Incantation professor. Obsidian had always had a hard time paying attention to the lectures about history and theory, in spite of Professor Drought’s passion. Anyone could tell by her lectures that Drought fawned over the subject, but theory just wasn’t as intriguing as practical application. Why learn why something had to be said a certain way if you could just learn to say it right and have the spell work? And, while we’re complaining, why did everyone have to use quills? They were ridiculously expensive and ballpoint Bics worked just as well. Not to mention the incessant cacophony quills made when everyone was writing at the same time. Light from the runic stones floating overhead flickered off his indigo horns as he shook his head to himself. With a final dip into the ink, he began his answer.

nostalgicroxas 2019-10-18 00:20:11 UTC #126

Now, for the past two years we've been following Vlalan and Elle around as they travelled through Barbatous and Morata, the two worlds that the living can live in- parallel worlds that affect each other. But, let's go to another side of Vlalan's family and one year into the past. We see Vlalan's cousin twice removed, who is two years younger than him (Vlalan at age 19 now). This is Kura, usually dressed in dull greens and browns and reserved. Finally allowed to leave his village, Kura has been sent to Pine Village to learn to socialize with people. Of course, he's not exactly happy with the sudden change.

Today is the day of a great festival, September 10 is known here as the "Fall Gathering" festival, where many people gather in the town centers and big cities to dance, sing and socialize. Kura sat in the back of the town center, the middle lit by a huge bon fire and many lanterns and lights strung all around. In his hand, Kura had a small little lantern that showed he was wearing his usual dull green sweatshirt and dull brown cargo pants. The fire lit up in his cyan eyes but vanished as his black hair seemed to swallow it, only to be reignited by the single streak of blond of his bangs.

Kura sighed heavily. He hated these sort of parties; there wasn't ever anything fun to do. Someone else thought otherwise, a prince from the desert named Rindou Kakan, open and charming. Rindou had looked around the crowd and saw only one person of interest, so he decided to walk over and sit next to Kura on the bench.

tapas.io

Follow the Sun | Tapas

Vlalan's cousin who is fated by the gods to house another person's spirit in his body.

375 2019-10-18 02:54:27 UTC #127

It was around nine at night when I was on my way home. And boy, was I scared. Why? Well, it's because today is the last day of a normal season. Where the sun shines and all anyone my age could think about is ice cream and falling in love underneath the fireworks. Laying around the house with the fan pointed on them because the humidity kills. And don't forget hiking up Mount Etska just so you can see the entire town in it's pretty gold and pink lights and idolize The giant windmill stands tall in the middle of town, decorated in white lights.

That all ends tonight. Tomorrow, autumn will be in the air.

Ever since I could remember, things started to feel creepier around this time of the year. Instead of the stars smiling down at us, they’re looming. Watching me and my every move as I stood hesitantly outside of the alleyway that separated me from my neighborhood. This is the only time when I hate this alleyway. There is a light pole that stood directly in the center collecting the many flying bugs. Its light revealing the bags of rotting trash. Other than that, it was pure darkness that weighed heavy on my shoulders and squished my stomach.

Zaboem 2019-11-08 08:12:56 UTC #128

We're collecting submissions for the next bunch.of episodes. Does anybody else want to participate?

Zaboem 2019-11-09 02:01:06 UTC #129

For the next batch of episodes in the FPA, I am thinking of submitting something different. My thought is write a short essay or just a letter about some different ideas regarding what a first page would include. I'm eager to hear anybody elses thoughts on the subject.

MissBonnett 2019-11-11 01:16:37 UTC #130

(I'm changing the POV from third to first, so this is a fun distraction, haha)

From my vampire romance, "Til Death do we Wed"

Despite what a regular mortal may think, love potions aren’t illegal. They're just a taboo form of magic and when people administer the potion incorrectly, the consequences for both parties could be dire. Too much fennel and your lover may become so obsessed with you, they decide to lock you in a cage forever, or they'll kill anyone who breathes in your direction. If the witch forgets to add just a sprinkle of cinnamon, whoever drank the potion might become so overwhelmed with emotion every time they see you, they're compelled to sob uncontrollably.

The worst part might be when the target of the witch's affection drinks from the potion, a cry of anguish cracks through the sky. It's the sound of someone losing the love of their life to a wicked witch. It's the cry of someone's heart breaking. That alone could drive a person mad.

I never considered using a love potion.

Not until I took one look at Mike Wheeler's face.

Mike Wheeler and his soft tussle of blonde curls. Mike wheeler and his chin dimple and endless ocean eyes. Mike Wheeler with the kind of smile that made me forget my last name. I’d fork over my Social Security number or my entire inheritance, if I could just spend one magical evening in the back of Mike Wheeler's Toyota Corolla.

Theredrose 2019-11-11 03:32:37 UTC #131

"Amiria is both the name of this world and the name of its guardian spirit..." Once said a delusional sage.

"And where that guardian spirit is seen, happiness shall follow." He finished, staring at the ceiling with his soulless eyes.

That was the last memory that my father gave me before his death, it sounded so silly and unbelievable that I soon forgot about it... until then.

The first chapter, began with this super short prologue.
Genres: Fantasy, Adventure, Slice Of Life and A little of Romance.

ivanskilling 2019-12-06 12:53:13 UTC #132

Standing on the steps leading to a small cabin, the brunette swept her eyes over her surroundings, from the snow-capped mountains in the distance to the vast sprawling land in front of her. All was silent, save for the loud chirping of the crickets.

The narrow dirt road she had traveled down was empty of vehicles. Tall grass on both sides of the road stretched to the horizon as far as she could see, swaying along to the touch of the gentle breeze. There was no sign of any living thing in the vicinity.

Her guard still up, she turned towards the raven haired man standing behind her, an automatic rifle held to his chest. Jerking her head in the direction of the open area, she spoke in a low voice, her breath condensing in the chilly air. “Watch my six.”

ivanskilling 2020-02-13 13:48:11 UTC #133

All pairs of eyes were focused on the conductor as he lifted his baton and with an exaggerated wave of his mechanical hand, brought the small group of musicians to life. A beautiful yet haunting classical waltz piece filled the halls and couples took to the dance floor. Soon, an array of colorful dresses and tuxedos were swishing around in an almost hypnotic manner, occupying every foot of the space without treading on each other’s toes. It was a time of celebration and fun for most. But also a time of opportunity and danger for a select few.

Through the overlaid display in the corner of her eyes, Myran surreptitiously eyed the green-eyed gentleman clad in a black tuxedo who stood across the hall. He was incredibly good-looking with his hair sleeked to the back and his penetrating eyes that seemed to be able to peer into your soul. Many women had tried to goad him into dancing with them but he had rejected all of them pretty curtly. Apparently, he didn’t possess the silver tongue that men of his trade usually had.

Knowing that he must have already scoured the place like she did, it was really a matter of time before one of them made a move on the other. Myran took another sip of her wine, examining him through the reflection off the glass. He had put down his wine glass and was walking in her direction. Smirking to herself, she pretended not to notice as he cleared his throat behind her.

sarahmassey998 2020-02-15 03:28:50 UTC #134

Mr. Graves leaned against the Marsh’s Journey rail, looking at the growing cluster of lights that lay ahead on the Miskatonic River. It was dusk and most would be relieved to see civilization so close to the coming night but not Graves. He couldn’t feel comfort from the impending glow; it was a glittering maw of some shapeless horror that swallowed the misfortunate wanderer. Arkham was its name and here he was following its terrible call. Graves feared little and what he did fear was not unfounded, never a feeling he couldn’t substantiate. This place, from the moment they had landed in Innsmouth and hired the steamer, filled it with dread. Some reptilian part of him had awakened and bade him to flee. He had suppressed it out of propriety. The Society had sent him to Arkham and to Arkham he would go, no matter what waited for him there.
“Something troubling you old friend?” A hand fell gently on his shoulder, one that was as cold as the night around it.
“Nothing important Mr. Gears.” Graves turned and saw that the Glamour Engine gave his friend the appearance of a dignified man in his late 50’s, well-groomed with bright blue eyes.