This time I tried to add more plot context while still keeping the style, but I'm not sure if it's getting a bit long now? But I hope it's getting clearer what it is about even if writing this query has been a slow process for me - but it has helped me to make the manuscript itself better too, so it's all worth it. Previous version here.
Dear Agent,
DEAD THINGS IN MY HEART is a 99,000-word upmarket gothic that begins with familiar tropes from paranormal romance, unravelling into psychological horror as the reality of a mortal girl caught between two codependent immortal men becomes evident. My novel is a standalone with duology potential. It blends the gothic vampires of A Dowry of Blood with the dreamy coming-of-age of Bunny and the small-town atmosphere of Starling House.
After her father’s death and her mother’s spiral into depression, Mila Linden desperately wants to feel loved. The vampire Luca Manacorda appears to be everything she needed; older, attentive and quietly controlling in a way that makes Mila feel cared for, despite the warning words of her friends.
Girls Mila’s age start appearing dead in the lake as another vampire, Angelo, enters the town of Owl Lake. Angelo haunts Mila with surreal nightmares, but she learns to protect her sleep with her grandmother’s crucifix. Mila discovers festering fang-wounds on her friend, and realizes Angelo has infiltrated other girl's dreams, too. Even still, Luca hesitates to act against Angelo with violence.
Mila’s loved ones grow suspicious of the bruises she seems to collect. To protect them she asks Luca to alter their memories, but the fights lead to her distancing herself from her human peers and moving deeper into Luca’s world. At a decadent vampire masquerade, she is faced with the vampiric cruelty; half-naked humans sway hypnotized in golden cages for the entertainment of ancient vampires. Mila learns fragments of Angelo and Luca’s history, unfinished murder attempts and shared lovers, and realizes she’s gotten tangled into something older than her.
As Angelo starts targeting her family, Mila makes a choice; she will let him back into her nightmares and try to seduce him into a trap in the woods of Owl Lake. But the landscape of dreams is unstable, and Mila endangers more than her physical safety – spending too much time in the shared memoryscape with Angelo risks eroding her own sense of self.
I hold a BA in psychology, and I am completing my master’s in psychology. My academic background informs my interest in psychological depth and character-driven narratives. I am also nonbinary, and I am passionate about writing stories that don’t sit in traditional categories of love or identity.
(side note: I have gotten a lot of comments on the past versions that I should sell this as a gothic romance, and while I love gothic romance, this book does not have a HEA/HNF and most of the book lingers on the uncomfortableness of the age gap and power dynamics. If this sounds too much like romance, I'd love critique that points out what gives that impression and how to change it)
First 300
Grammy’s house felt hot and stuffy that summer, like it was filled with psychological mildew. I wondered if that sort of thing spread spores, if we were all infected. I left the house, ambling toward the town library. Owl Lake was small enough to be walkable, even if most Americans preferred cars.
My eyes caught on a pearl-white bird lying on the ground, and I took a few steps toward it; quietly so that it wouldn’t frighten. As I got closer, I realized it was so still only because it was dead. I knelt next to it, throat growing tight at the sight of it.
It was a beautiful mourning dove; its feathers still appeared soft, but its eyes were glassed over. It didn't feel right to leave its little body there to be torn apart by carrion birds. I ripped a bird-sized piece of moss at the side of the path to make an unceremonious grave. With a stick, I tried to gently move the dove to the grave.
When its body rolled over, a side wriggling with fat, white worms revealed. The flesh had already started to darken.
I screamed and backed away, suddenly feeling unclean. The putrid smell of rotting meat reached my nose, and I had to hold my breath so I wouldn’t vomit. I wanted to scratch my neck; I could almost feel the little worms feasting just right under my own skin, mindlessly eating their way toward my heart.
I turned away, even as guilt pressed against my throat, telling me that I should still bury it. What did it care anymore? I told myself, but I still felt uneasy when I entered the library. The sudden glare of artificial light hurt my eyes.
I paused between the shelves, unsure what to do next. The library was mostly empty, just a few elderly people. My eyes caught on an intriguing young man, crouched over a heavy volume that was spread out in front of him.