I would describe my novel as fantasy, thriller and crime: It's FaTCri. I don't actually want to give away too much about it, since it's going to be a long time until it's finished, but I'll try to grant you a couple of glimpses into the story to get you as excited about it as I am. Let me know in the comment section how you like the excerpts.
[...] A soft voice flew in from the corridor:
“She’s in here. We found her near the break point. We have reason to be believe that she tried to pass it.”
“Pass it?” a second voice asked unbelievingly “stupid girl! How did she end up here in the first place?”
“We cannot be sure. We didn’t have a chance to interrogate her yet. She still hasn’t regained her conciousness.” a third, droning voice replied.
“What did you administer so far?” asked the second voice.
“The usual. Twice a day.” the first voice responded gently.
“Well,” the droning voice remarked “perhaps the time has come to either awake her or administer a higher dose. After all we don’t know who she is or whether she brought along others of her kind. At the moment we don’t even know why she is here. Who’s to say she doesn’t have foul intensions?”
“You can’t be serious” the first voice was clearly indignant at the third voice’s comment and banned every last bit of gentleness from it’s tone “If we wake her up now, there is a chance she won’t make it and if we increase her dose she might never wake up!”
“In the interest of all, I would take the risk” stated the droning voice “she might be a spy.”
“Oh, I am absolutely certain that you wouldn’t mind the risk” the first voice replied frostily “but unlike you, most people are not utterly heartless! And in terms of your concern about her being a spy, I can assure you she didn’t come here on purpose.”
“You can?” the second voice chipped in to the crosstalk.
“Yes, I do.”
“Really?” the droning voice asked derisively “And how did you come to this conclusion? Was it written in the stars or is it just a hunch?”
“Neither” the first voice replied affirmatively “Mrs. Andypuff came across the girl’s key in Litter Lane. That suggests the assumption that she doesn’t have a clue where she is and how she got here to begin with, much less how she may get away. If she did, she wouldn’t have left her key lying around in a dark alley somewhere. She would have taken it. Don’t you agree?”
After a short period of silence the droning voice reluctantly admitted:
“Yes, I agree. Nevertheless,” it added ”her room should be guarded, just in case she tries to run away or, god forbid, something else... happens to her. I can’t imagine her staying in bed like a good girl when she wakes up, unaware of where she is.”
“Fine, Jackyl! Assign two of your men to guard the room. Continue the treatment as you think fit, Bella.” the second voice ordered and after a few seconds of silence two pairs of feet took off into an unknown distance, producing less and less noise on the stony floor until their sounds vanished completely. One pair approached the door. She closed her eyes as quickly as possible when she saw that the door swung wide open and a yellow shimmer of light flooded the room [...]
[...] Comprehension does not provide shelter from disappointment. It is no substitute for sympathy and it does not comfort. It is just an explanation for the absence of all of these virtues. Nothing more and nothing less. [...]
[...] In front of the window there were two birds, but they couldn't seem to agree upon who of them had the prettiest plumage. The leaves of a tree were rustling in a smooth breeze, sending it's kind regards all the way over to her bed, and accentuated the birds' discussion in an almost dramatic fashion. After a while one of the two squabblers got bored with the chatter and the sound of his flapping wings flew right on into the summerly sunset sky along with him. Rather confidently, the stubborn one of the two chirped one last time and then flew off, presumably to find someone else to argue with.
Now that the birds had settled their dispute and crinkling silence had set in, she noticed the lack of traffic noise from outside. She wasn't in London anymore and if so she was far from the city in a quiet suburb somewhere.
While she lay there in bed and pondered, the starry firmament started stretching over the sky in front of her window and the moon superseded the sun. As she finally came to the conclusion, that all the pondering wouldn't get her anywhere since she would have to give in to the natural tenor of events due to her bodily constitution anyway, the moon had already turned her white bed covers into a silverly shimmering artwork. Her feet, her knees and her bosom created exaltations on the otherwise sleek surface of her blanket and cast picturesque shadows [...]
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