Posted By: Susan Rooke
Posted on: March 2, 2017 12:45 PM
Before I begin I’d like to say how grateful I am for all my readers. To everyone, whether you’ve been here from the start, or whether you’ve joined us more recently, I appreciate your support! Thank you for discovering this page, and for reading!
This week marks the event that Glen and I have been anticipating for the last two years: We’re moving into our “forever home.” I’ve written about that subject several times before, once devoting an entire post to it (find it here). Living in a small farmhouse for all that time brought consequences I hadn’t intended or foreseen. Probably the most harmful one was that, in 550 square feet, neither humans nor pets moved around as much as we were accustomed to, and as a result, we all gained weight. Some of us *ahem* more than others. Phoebe alone seemed quite comfortable with her increased heft, earning herself a new nickname: “Jabba the Catt.”
In retrospect, though, I think she may have been more “Marlon Brando, the later years.”
So the move, for all our sakes, couldn’t have come sooner. And I’m ecstatic that the day has finally arrived. Honest. I’m just not sure how I developed a limp, a hitch, a hunch and a slouch all in the space of three days. I feel 1,009 years old. (That would make Glen a mere pup of only 1,004.)
We used to move from city to city, from house to house, all the time. On a whim. Just for fun. But now when I walk out to the garage of the forever house and face this (and trust me; this isn’t all of it) . . .
. . . I feel like a whoopee cushion that’s been sat on too many times. (I just googled “whoopee cushion” to be certain I was spelling “whoopee” correctly, and was somewhat astonished to see the zillions of entries that popped up—a Wikipedia entry??—along with the “related searches” of such imponderables as “whoopee cushion terraria,” “whoopee cushion costume” and “self inflating [sic] whoopee cushion.” And why are most whoopee cushions so pink? If I didn’t have six rail cars full of boxes to unpack, I’d have to investigate “whoopee cushion history” further.)
Clearly, I have enough unpacking to keep me busy for some time. So while I’m working on that, what I’d like to do here today is share with you the prologue from The Space Between, the forthcoming first book in my fantasy series. Its publication is drawing closer each day. In fact, by the time you read this, the final copy edit should be complete, and I’ll be considering cover designs. (Eep!) I intend to share more of the book here in the future, but for now, just a little taste.
First, however, a little background on the story, without giving anything away:
As my “Works” page describes, the books are based on the folk legend that faeries are the descendants of fallen angels. The Space Between tells the story of Mellis, a courageous and resourceful young woman stolen from the human world by a tribe of faeries known as Penitents. Of all the faery tribes, the Penitents are the only ones who regret their fall from grace, and out of a profound sense of guilt, they’ve cursed themselves with afflictions, some quite terrible. They kidnap Mellis because they believe she can help them return to their ancestors’ state of divinity. Living beside them, Mellis comes to appreciate their kindness and humility, but then is deeply alarmed to be drawn into a deadly conflict between the Penitents and a former member of their tribe: a murderer who takes Satan as his lover and ally.
From The Space Between:
Prologue: Before the Beginning
The fall seemed to go on forever. Sometimes plunging through clouds of icy shards, his flesh burning, scraped raw. Slowing sometimes, or seeming to, in the firmament’s cold hollows. Once he thought he glimpsed the rim of eternity. A fiery radiance shimmered there, crackling at the farthest reaches of his sight. So empty were the heavens. Nothing to cling to. And thus he continued to fall—faster, slower—until he thought he would fall for the rest of time.
He understood the emptiness was not complete. The only true void had existed in an age before his own. But in these infinite distances, the few bodies were a sparse scattering of tiny specks of light, so removed as to have no relevance. Like his shattered heart, a vast emptiness dotted with rocky, sterile hopes. The darkness he saw upon the face of the deep frightened him. It was like the darkness growing within himself.
As he fell he had time to ponder. Why such fury, this ultimate punishment?
He had acted boldly, with imagination and daring, and for that he should have been rewarded. Instead he had come to this. Great and manifold his blessings had been—and then were stripped away. How far he had come from the first light of morning, the light that brought day out of night!
Ice crystals flayed him, searing with a chill fire. His single comfort as he fell was the thought he held close to him in the measureless universe.
I did not fall alone.
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