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Here is chapter one of my story. Hope you guys love Mist
Beneath the Soul ~ Chapter I
Mist woke up to the sound of dragons tearing through her room. It was annoying when her father sent the dragons in her room every morning when he slept well into the afternoon. He told her that it was so that she would become Daddy’s Little Villain, or that was at least what she thought.
Mist groaned and threw one of her frayed, red silk pillows at one of the dragons to shut him up. Instead, he just snapped at it and bit right threw it. Predictable. Mist then threw a bit of camel meat out of her door. Both dragons ran out to get it, making her room a bigger mess than it already was. Dragons didn’t have the brain capacity to do anything else than other’s bidding, like her father’s.
Mist laid in her sagging, canopy bed for a few more minutes, hating the idea of getting up. When she finally did, she stumbled through a giant pile of ancient scrolls and tombs on her floor to the window, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She drew back the moth-beaten curtains and was blasted with desert heat and bright sunlight.
When her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked out onto a crumbling stone courtyard and desert. In the distance, Mist could just make out the outline of trees in the Endless Woods. This was her typical view, crumbling stone, sand, and shadows of trees. The perfect location.
Mist turned back to her room and saw that one of the hinges on her door was broken from when the dragons rushed in. Mist was always repairing stuff in the old palace she and her father lived in. It was boring to do but it was something to do in this God-awful place. Mist walked to her tarnished, gold door and looked at the broken hinge.
Busted, Mist thought to herself.
She thought as much. She stepped back and prepared herself for the pounding headache she was about to give herself. Mist raised her hands and they started to glow with a blood red light. A light sweat formed on her forehead. She mustered all of her concentration onto the door hinge. Her vision narrowed and the whole door glowed with the same light as her hands. The broken hinge began to repair itself, slowly though. When it finished, Mist collapsed onto her bed, exhausted from the little magic she used. She didn’t like to use her magic much but it came in handy for stuff that wasn’t easily replaceable.
Mist found herself still on her bed, ten minutes later, with a pounding headache. She stood up uneasily and took slow steps to her blackened wardrobe. She opened it to see her usual selection of clothes. She grabbed the first thing her hands and put it on.
Mist walked over to the cracked, full length mirror in the corner of her room and saw the outfit she had chosen. She wore a black shirt threaded with gold, a dark red leather vest, black pants that were ripped and had a snake shaped gold stripe on the side, and black leather combat boots that laced up to her knees. The gold jewelry she had on glowed in the sunlight. She wore a gold necklace with a lamp pendant on it, gold bangles glittering on her arms, and her ears were double pierced with golden earrings too. Her tan skin still had it’s usual shade of light red, her almond shaped grey eyes still had their dull sheen, and the pale scar on her cheek ruined her rebel look. It made her look not so much pretty but interesting to look at. It made her special in a weird sort of way.
Mist moved away from her mirror and walked out of her door. She had to go “practice” her talent when in reality, she just sat in the dungeon/library and read books. Mist walked by broken urns and ancient tapestries. She passed wide, empty rooms and small, supply closets. She shuffled around large statues on their sides and hoped over fallen beams from above. Then she began to go down. Mist went down who knows how many steps of stairs, all she knew was that they were steep and that she had done this every day since she was five.
When she finally reached the bottom, Mist walked down a dark, stone corridor. Her steps echoed and she could see giant rats skittering along the walls. The walls themselves were covered with grime and dark red stains. They were also lined with bar doors, remnants of the old dungeon that was here, there were even skeletons in some of them that had been long forgotten.
When she reached the end of the corridor, Mist took the secret key she had hidden her boot, right next to her knife, and fitted the end of it to the iron door in front of her. She turned the key ever so slightly, hearing the gears in the door groaning and turning. She swung the door open with low moans coming from it and stepped into the even darker room behind it. When she had closed the door behind her, she took a small vial from her vest and poured it onto a large stick in a holster by the door. When the dark sand made contact with the end of the stick, a small flame appeared. Mist cupped her hand around it and blowed. This was her regular routine everyday, coming down here and doing whatever.
When the torch was nice and bright, Mist continued around the room she was in, lighting the other torches on the walls. When she finished, Mist was standing in the middle of the library her father had no use for (she was pretty sure that he had forgotten about it). Breathing in the smell of musty books and grime, this was home. Mist hated her father and this was the one my place where she was left alone but even down here she was still surrounded by her father. The walls were covered with his cruel smile and his long red and black robes. Jafar glared menacingly from the tapestries he had placed in here when he was the Sultan’s adviser. It made Mist mad at him. Mad at him because he had made her life a living h*ll since the day she was born.
Mist walked to the small nook in the corner of the library with her favorite book. She sat down in the comfy chair she had made out of old curtains, silken rugs, and camel fluff. She opened her book and wasn’t disturbed until she was startled by the loud knock on the door hours later.
I love how you put all those details in the chapter. Amazing job!