A/n. This is the prologue for my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) story that I will be writing during the month of November. I currently have 12,179 words written, (That's 6.5 chapters) out of 50,000. Yey me! So, tell me what you think, and any suggestions on ways to make this story into 50,000 words will be greatly appreciated. Oh, and I will update this twice a week, starting… NOW! So, yeah, enjoy my frantic caffeine induced creativeness.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and is strictly created from the twisted mind of Lupine Eyes. That said, any references to places, people, etc. that Lupine Eyes does not own is strictly accidental. So don't sue her, you will not get very much, except if you like pocket lint.
Dark Lightning
By Lupine Eyes
Prologue
Allania
The lightning lit up the dark navy sky, illuminating my face. The wind pushed my long auburn hair, twisting it, tangling it, so it spread around me like on of those old-fashioned lace collars ladies used to wear. The boom of the thunder attacked my eardrums a second later. I smiled. Thunderstorms were always amusing.
The rain pelted against me, beading up on my skin, and weighting my eyelashes. I laughed as another fork of lighting struck, almost five feet away from me. I had nothing to fear. The thunder rumbled like the purr of a humongous cat, having its ears scratched after a long day of eating and sleeping.
The grass under my feet was slick, bending under the pressure. I stood on the edge of the world, a cliff, which looked over the dark gray sea, tossing and turning restlessly in the storm, as a child would in his bed, his head filled with equally restless dreams.
I gazed up into the sky, a mass of swirling clouds the same gray as the sea. I sighed with delight. My father's best work was in his thunderstorms. My father… Anani, god of the sky. He was the one the peasants prayed to, to bring soft rains for their crops. My mother… she, she was but a normal human woman, daughter of some prince or another, a Healer, with great skill in herb lore, and even greater beauty, or so my father said. I never met my mother. She died in childbirth.
The next fork of lightning hit me, chasing away my macabre thoughts. I laughed, knowing it would sound insane to anyone who would happen to pass by, but who would, besides me? Who but me would dare brave my father's maelstrom? Power filled me, with a strange euphoria bubbling up inside of me. I slowly lifted off the ground. The sky was welcoming me.
I floated among the lighting, the wind, and the rain soaked clouds, still in their sulky gray eveningwear. This was paradise, no matter what the human philosophers said about palm trees and perfect harmony between humans. This was it, in the sky, open to the elements, to be one with the world. That was paradise. Strange, after a thousand years since their Making, the humans still couldn't figure it out.
I danced among the clouds, the lightening, and the rain. Wind swept at my feet, tugging playfully at my rain-soaked dress. The music of the element filled me, every note ringing true, deep in my rain-swept soul. Ecstasy filled me (the feeling, not the drug) and I heard my own voice lifting, becoming one with the voice of the elements.
Eventually the rain slowed, and then stopped, as all storms are warrant to do, and the sky lightened, becoming a light drizzle. I sighed, and floated back down to the earth. Nothing lasts forever, or so they say. I shook my head in sorrow, as I trudged down the well-beaten path, my bare feet making squelching sounds in the mud.
I walked slowly through the small forest, which housed my citadel of a home, hearing the soft sound of the animals awaking, and coming outside. The air was fresh and crisp, like it always is after a thunderstorm, but my heavy mood did not lighten.
The sun peaked out from behind a cloud, and I glared at it with contempt, and immediately it hid itself behind a cloud, as if afraid of my anger. I muttered darkly, my words inaudible even to myself, as I continued down the dirt road.
Soon, I was insight of my home, a three-story fortress of white marble, with veins of black running through it. I pushed open the grand double doors of brass, depicting scenes of storms and rain, and I stepped into the foyer. The floor was of the same white marble, but it was covered in a rug of scarlet, leading to a grand staircase.
"Milady!" pierced my ears, and my maid, Anne, ran up to me. She was only a little older then me, (my father liked them young) and she was the closest thing I had to a friend. Yes, I know, terribly sad. I didn't get out much. I lived on this tiny little island my father had had his sister create from the sea, away from the modern world. Here, my father had created this castle, and brought the finest tutors the world had to offer to teach me. He also brought plenty of women to be my "friends" and his playmates, for when ever he happened by.
I was aloud off the island once a month to mingle with the normal, powerless people of this Earth. Gods above, but they were lucky. Did you know they now had these tiny little boxes that could fit in the palm of your hand, and they could contain hours and hours of music? It's insane! How do they fit the musicians in that tiny thing? It boggles the mind!
Anyway, Anne was frantic. "Perhaps milady should sit down first?" She asked. I shook my head. "And of course, Milady must be dried off, before she catches cold." I stifled my anger and allowed her to get me into something warm and dry, not much caring whether it was petticoats or jeans. I sat down in my favorite chair, a La-Z-Boy, one of the only modern things we had.
Anne fluttered here and there, and I sighed, looking at this nervous little thing. I studied her. Her crystal clear blue eyes were filled with anxiety. Her platinum blonde hair was in its normal bun, but it was mussed, as if she had rushed through it. Her pink-petticoats were out of place, not perfect like normal. Before I continue, I must tell you, the reason Anne acts so weird is because she is from the 1700's and believes woman are delicate and will faint if they hear anything about death, or even blood.
This island is part of the world, yet not. Time doesn't move like it does in the real world, so if you were brought here in, say the 1700's, you would still be as young and beautiful as when you arrived. But, enough about that.
"I'm sitting Anne." I said, my tone severe.
"Of course, Milady." she said. "Well, it's about your Father."
"What about my father Anne?" I asked, trying desperately not to punch her in that fool nose of hers.
"He- He's missing Milady! Your Father is missing!"
A/n: So what do you think? Too much caffeine? Anyway, please reveiw, and tell me what you think. But uh, no flames. Or I will douse you in oil and see how you like fire.