Right, this is my first novel to put on FictionPress. I'm only 200 or so a5 pages into it, so bear with me. I'm intending to approach a punlisher when I'm finished too, so any reviews etc would be great! Please do so, I want to know what people think. And the more favorites/reviews, the quicker the next chapter will appear :)

Dust to Ashes

Sempre dinanzi a lui ne stanno molte:
vanno a vicenda ciascuna al giudizio,
dicono e odono e poi son giù volte.

- Dante, The Inferno

Prologue: The Dead Room

I charge thee, fling away ambition:
By that sin fell the angels.

-William Shakespeare, Henry VIII

The body lay under a bare light bulb. One side of the bulb had shattered and the filaments were vulnerable. It swung in a lazy arc, swaying back and forth, throwing shadows and light across the walls. The stark lighting did nothing to soften the state of the room.

The scent of blood hung thick and heavy in the air. It clung to the tattered drapes like an invisible cobweb, imprinting the fabric with the ghost of a memory. It would be the sharp tang of copper, lifeblood

(lost things)

and it would linger there forever. Overhead, the bulb began yet another descent. The wire gave a definitive creak as it swung down and pulled taut. The stranger ignored it, pausing to glance out of the remains of the broken window. Night had chased the dying sun away just an hour or two ago, leaving a city full of lights. It was pretty, if you were the sort who appreciated a city that never truly slept.

(Here's your hat, what's your hurry?)

That was New York- a relentless pounding, a collection of people moving through life so fast that they blurred and became oblivious to the orchestra of misery that surrounded them. Just one glance down and he wondered how many children were out there, living on the streets. How many people just sat and watched it happen- or averted their eyes with distaste? It was always the same with mortals- gone in the blink of an eye; as the saying went. He should know, he'd watched them for long enough.

The light bulb span once more, casting shadows to the corners of the room.

It was a mess. He'd seen humans living in slums before, but never someone who chose to. Empty bottles lay scattered all over the floor and a feeble wisp of aftershave caught on the air like a whisper. A caress. Just a hint, but enough to explain why he had found the girl only partly dressed. Lying tangled in the sheets in her underwear

(The glimpses of too-much-flesh disturbed him)

like a limp marionette. No chance, no, no chance to run- not before he'd cut the strings.

The taste of her death laced his memories with a sweet rot.

Her eyes were glassy, half-shed tears congealing around the rims in pools. They winked in the light. Her mouth was open in a terrible parody of life, though the words on her lips remained unspoken. Not even a whisper. Mascara ran down her cheeks in careless streaks.

Overhead, the light bulb completed another lazy arc.

He peered down at the body, admiring the bruises that formed around her delicate throat. Spots of blue, blooming on the pale white skin.

I know why you ran.

But she hadn't fled fast enough.

A sound startled him into awareness, but a quick glance down told him it was only a fox- rifling through an overflowing garbage can. Nevertheless, it was time to leave. He gripped the edge of the windowsill and watched as the paint flaked under his grip. Something crunched under his foot

(Glass).

In the darkness, the shards glittered and the red of the girl's blood turned an ink black. Mesmerized, he bent down to pick up one of them, hissing as it sliced through the skin of his palm.

A shadow and a heartbeat later, he was gone, with nothing but a dead room and a bloody red hand print on the wall to suggest he'd ever been there.