It's March, which means that I am diving into the first round of "Continuing Forever II" read-throughs and revisions. I thought I'd share the first revised piece with you, which is a prologue (prologue one of two, may I add) written from the point of view of Sophia. (Remember her from the first book? Lovely character if I do say so myself.) Without further ado...
If I were not so deep in thought, I think the look on my face would frighten me as I glare at my reflection in the rain-flecked window. My brow is furrowed; my mouth is in a thin, hard line. My eyes look as if they have hurricanes inside of them- but in actuality, the hurricanes exist in my mind. “Care to share?” I almost jump out of my seat as Rowan comes out of nowhere.
“Don’t startle me,” I snap. “And what exactly do you want me to share with you?”
He shrugs. “Just your thoughts. You’ve been sitting there nearly every day for the past week, ever since-” He pauses, and makes the intelligent decision to stop his sentence there when he notices me staring him down, daring him to say the words that I don’t want to hear again.
“I’m just curious,” is what he decides to finish with instead.
Now it is my turn to shrug as I turn back to my window-gazing. “What can I say? I’ve had a lot on my mind, and there is nothing to entertain it.”
He laughs, low and ruefully under his breath. “Ah-ha. But, Sophia- we both know that your mind does not stay bored for long. And whatever you’re scheming...please don’t do it.”
He knows me too well. I now see fury in my window reflection.
He notices it, too. “I only mean that we need to use caution,” he insists, lowering his voice. “We’re surrounded by danger. You know that, Sophia. One false move, one misguided word-”
I hold up my hand wearily, stopping him there. “I know. Gosh, Rowan, you’ve told me that so many times. I know. You’re right: I am thinking, and I am planning. I am merely deciding a course of action.” He tries to break in, but I plow through. “But I am using caution. I will not act hastily. They will pay, and I will collect that payment when the time is right. But the time…” I pause, listening to the sound of the rain hitting against the window, the sound of Rowan’s breathing, the sound of busy movement elsewhere in the house.
“The time is going to come soon,” I finish. Neither of us speak again after that.
This is an original work of fiction and rightfully belongs to Anna McAuley.