TNS: Prologue

Okay so, I had some time, kinda. And, as you know, or may not know, I'm starting to sort of edit TNS. I'm mainly going to clean up, and polish it. So it'll be much better.

The first chapter has gotten many good reactions, and it introduced Muffy as a character very well, so I won't be changing too much here.

However, my one misgiving is that it's not fantasy-esque enough. Which actually moves into the rest of the book and the sequel. It comes off in a lot of ways, as a regular teen fiction. So I'm going to be adding a lot more detail about the magical aspects of Bellows and less about how much Muffy wanted Legacy's body.

My first order of business is to add a short prologue which gives a snapshot of what will happen in the last battle scene.

So what do you think? Is it captivating enough? Does it give too much away or just enough? Or not enough? Do you like it or hate it?

And did I achieve the goal of making it earn the fantasy genre that I have it in? (It may or may not line up with the original action scene. I'm going to be adding a LOT more detail and action to the entire book and that specific scene). slash, it's meant to be brief. But if further detail is needed, please tell me.

Again comment here (that will get a response much faster. And you can do it anonymously) or PM me via Wattpad.

Here it 'tis:

Prologue

I might die today. 

The thought crossed my mind as I panted, clutching my chest and glaring up at the women who sought to destroy me.

“Join me,” she whispered, sending shivers down my spines. Her auburn hair ran down the length of her back and framed her gaunt face. She was hallow, like an old porcelain doll that had been collecting dust on a shelf.

I jutted my chin in defiance. Something snaked through my veins. I could feel it coursing through me; it was raw power. 

Nothing she said or did would change my mind.

I closed my eyes, thinking of all the people I had to fight for. A collage of faces passed through my mind, and I clenched my fists.  

Straightening up, I opened my eyes to gaze at the scene before me. As soon as I did, a snake made of flame erupted from her palm, landing in front of me. It’s eyes were two burning coals; the rest of its body a vibrant orange. It scorched the grass, hissing its way towards me. Once it came at me, it began to circle my feet, setting the edge of my dress on fire.
I jumped back, muttering every spell I knew to put out the flames.

I could taste my fear on the tip of my tongue—cold, metallic, and bitter. 

My heart beat in my ears; I never once took my eyes off the flaming snake.

Robert F. Kennedy once said, “No martyr’s cause has ever been stilled by his assassin’s bullet.” Dying isn’t the end of all things, not the way we see it. The blood of a martyr is a call to action more effective than any general’s speech or banging of drums could ever be. 

But that doesn’t mean I needed to become a martyr.

If I died today, I would die fighting.