The Hallowed (novel preview)

Chapter One

**PUBLISHING NOVEMBER 7 2017!!**

Text copyright Lani Lenore

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Reason for rating: Sexual themes, including scenes of sexuality. Graphic depictions of violence, horror and terror for the main protagonist.           

                                                          _________________________                                                                

 A memory fleeting

Your soft touch

In the dark, the night

The deepest blush

Stirring whispers

This desire, no lie

My sweet caress

Your perfect sigh

Of monster and man

I'm yours; my plea

Unleash, now

The beast in me

***

Her eyelids fluttered. Fingers twitched. Awake.

Someone was standing over her, but she could not see face or feature through the dim haze of her vision. Everything was a blur, as if her eyes were not fully formed, merely gelatinous orbs cradled by her skull. But she was aware of the man's presence.

She could see a silhouette drifting in faint orange light, but her sight would not oblige her further than this—neither would her arms lift so that she could reach out to touch him. She was locked down by weakness, and he was a mystery. He was set apart from her, beyond the grasp of comprehension, and that realization made her drowsy. She had just woken up, but she was tired—so tired.

Before her eyelids settled to rest against one another, she heard him speak from within the fog. His voice was distant, clouded as if it had come to her through a depth of water, and it resonated in her ears.

"It's time to wake up, child. You've had enough sleep."

Gradually, as if straining against the sun, she opened her eyes, but no one was there to greet her.

The room was dim, and she was alone. Her body ached, and though she tried to think of a reason for her discomfort, she had no guess as to why she was sore. Groaning, she managed to lift her head, but only had a moment to look around the room before her heavy, throbbing cranium fell back against the feathery pillow behind it.

Where am I? Closing her eyes once again, she began to think about the room she had just glimpsed, trying to link objects to memory, but coming back with no recollection to put herself here.

She tried to remember all she could about the room—everything from the walls covered in rose-covered paper to the polished table with the lantern that lit the room dimly. She was lying on a bed that was soft and clean, with sheets of fine linen and a frame of carved wood. There had been a fireplace in front of her, unlit. There was a longcase clock standing to the left of it, each tick making her head throb. The ceiling was what she remembered best, for it was what she had woken up to. It was of dark wood, accentuated with the lines and shapes of the boards running through it. Though she remembered the details of the room, she recognized none of them from before this moment. If her mind were a book, it would be filled with blank pages, and only now was she jotting down these observations to be recorded in memory.