Would love to hear thoughts on how this little prologue grabs you.
Are you spooked? Intrigued? Left wanting to know more about the characters? Would you keep reading? I’m very much aiming for a vibe of “an otherworldly creature is watching a human child and does not fully understand her ‘humanness,’” and aiming to sprinkle mild humor alongside dread.
There’s some character context missing because this is the intro to a sequel (and if anyone is intrigued enough to want to check that out, it’s in my profile- I’m looking for beta readers atm!), but presumably readers would come in already knowing who the characters are 😅 The relevant context is that the observer (the clearly not-human creature) is a significant character from the first book who likes to ‘appear’ as an owl.
Prologue: First Look
Humans are funny things.
This one wouldn’t stop screaming.
She wasn’t much larger than my current body, but the sheer volume of her voice was remarkable. At the moment, it seemed to be raised in some kind of childish battle cry. Pink mouth open, dark hair askew, little fists clenched around a short, thick stick as she burst from a bush. She swung, missed, and the keen rose in pitch as her foe scooped one arm around her waist, flipped her upside down, and began poking at her stomach. She squirmed, gasping and shrieking with laughter.
They’d been at it all day. I’d relished a few moments of peace at dawn, when I’d landed silently on a young oak. My perch lay on the village outskirts, and offered a clear vantage of the girl’s home. Small, stone, and shuttered. Surrounded by swaying green grass, blooming red flowers, and the occasional tree. A currently unremarkable thing, much like the child herself.
The quiet had been broken just after her breakfast, when she’d run out of the house and tripped over a rock. She’d bawled, clutching a scraped knee, and the larger child had been quick to attend. They’d started some sort of game in which they chased each other while brandishing sticks, and the girl’s tears had quickly turned joyful shrieks.
Peals of laughter bubbled from her mouth. “Put me d-down! Durst! I c-can’t breathe!”
She was obviously lying. I’d watched plenty of creatures suffocate. None had worn such obvious, gap-toothed glee.
The black-haired boy relented, carefully swinging her thin frame down to the earth. “Sounds like you surrender, then.” One hand ruffled her thoroughly-tousled mop of hair.
Gray eyes sparkled. “For now.”
I sighed, watching from my perch. I’d expected a much more interesting prelude to tonight. But at least she seemed to be done screaming.
The rest of her day passed uneventfully, and I observed in reflective near-peace. Settled in stillness on creaking branches, flexing my feathers as I learned the scents and sounds of her mortal home. Soil and smoke, the sweet of crisp fruit and the sour of sweating humans, babbling chatter, busy insects, and chirping songbirds.
It was a small village, one filled with smiling mortal faces as their boots tapped against cobblestones or their hands worked the soil. The child trotted through town beside her peer, one small hand often nestled in his, until a setting sun drew them homewards.
Glimmers of distant starlight and a hazy moon found me perched on her open windowsill, feathers unruffled by an evening breeze that was wise enough to go around. I found myself wondering at the odds and chances of fate as I watched the child patter about her small bedroom. Carefree, gleeful, and innocent. Soon to peer with a gaze even sharper than mine. Why her?
She’d scarcely climbed with a yawn into her little bed when her gaze found mine.
I shifted back, letting moonlight and shadow spill past. Stretched my wings, content to withdraw until she’d settled, but the child’s response gave me pause.
Little pink lips stretched wide, wide eyes bright in the starlight as she hopped out of bed. “Oh, don’t leave! I’ll, um… wait right here! I’ll be back!” She creaked open the wooden door and scurried down the dark hallway. Something clattered from the house’s cramped, fragrant kitchen.
She kept her word, fortunately. Returned to the bedroom beaming, one hand stretched out, proudly offering… something. Small crumbles of tawny grain, scented vaguely like the soil of her realm.
“I suppose you’d rather have a mouse, but I made this only yesterday. Durst bought me a little jar of honey and I sprinkled some on top and it’s really good.” She crept forward, sprinkling the crumbs gingerly near my talons.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Little one, I’d rather have you.”
Her eyes grew so large that I cocked my head, nearly wondering if they’d fall out. My next moments were spent pondering if voicing the thought- or even speaking at all- had been a grave error. The purpose of this perch had been to satiate my own curiosity, not frighten the little thing.
But it was sheer delight that brightened her round face. “Oh! You can talk! Are you magical? Are you really an owl?” Narrow brown brows scrunched together, pert nose wrinkling. “Oh, wait. I suppose I must be dreaming.”
“Not just yet.” My beak curved. “But soon.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Her mouth stretched wide, enthusiasm clearly undeterred by confusion.
“That’s alright. I do.”
One pink lip disappeared beneath tiny white teeth as she peered up with sudden shyness. “May I… may I touch you? I’ve never pet an owl before, and you’re magical! You’re very pretty. Your feathers look very soft.”
I blinked, offering a little coo. “No, little one, it wouldn’t be safe. I’m only here to watch.”
“What are you watching for?” She propped narrow elbows onto the wooden sill, little hands cupping her face. “Are you looking for mice? Or bats? I’m sorry if you don’t like bread. I could maybe find you something else, if you like.”
Humans. Curious things, indeed.
“Oh!” She jumped, eyes rounding as if she’d remembered something very important. “I’m not being very polite, am I? I’m sorry, mister owl. I’m Fia. It’s very nice to meet you!” Her little slip of a chin lifted. “Do you have a name?”
Many, most long-forgotten. And now… “Most things do. But I seem to be lacking, at the moment.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem right. Hmm.” Her face puckered in thought. “Would you like one? I named all of farmer Gorman’s goats, and I think they were very nice. The names, I mean. Some of the goats are very not nice.”
Did all humans chatter like this? I myself savored calm as much as chaos, but perhaps mortals couldn’t help but swell with the need for noise. Perhaps they simply had to; meager lives gone in a handful of decades, what else could they do but fill time to the brim?
“There’s Blackberry, and Sunny Sam, who’s not really that sunny, and Prince, and Rosie, and Cinnamon, and-”
I waited in silence as the creature gave her joyful diatribe. Mused again on how very peculiar she was. Not merely for her foreign, mortal childishness, but for the strength she would soon show.
When she finished, her cheeks puffed out and her eyes veritably shone. “I could name you, if you like.”
“You’re kind to offer, Fia. But I think I shall remain content.”
“Oh.” Pink lips pursed into a pout. “But… everyone should have a name.”
“You’re not wrong. Hm.” I flexed my still-foreign feet, assessing the odd pressure of sharp talons digging into unliving wood. Wondered, with a snap of my beak, how well they’d pierce something sturdier. “Perhaps I’ll find one.”