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Querying. Send help!
Let’s call this an experiment. I’m going to post a YA novel one tweet at a time. It’s a fantasy with the brilliant title “Wolf-Killer,” but stars exactly ZERO werewolves. No idea if it’ll gain traction, but let’s see. Signal boosts appreciated.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
CHAPTER ONE The voices of the dead never truly leave. They become the wind, and roam the barren places of the world seeking solace.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
It's in the night they shout the loudest, when daylight sounds of work and play are bundled off to bed, and the world is left to those sleep has forsaken. When restless souls find common ground with restless feet.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
‘Those with blood on their hands,’ it seems to me, but my uncle Gannon has always chosen to put it more poetically.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
It’s a strange quality in a man who rarely speaks outside our house, but I’ve heard his lessons all my life. More of my thoughts carry his voice than my own, leaving me in conflict.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
He says one thing, I witness another, so which do I believe? 'Only the beasts smell blood,' he says, but my clothes hang heavy with the scent. A metallic, rusty twang to match the color when it dries.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
'The beasts feel nothing,' he says. Then why do they fight? Why do they protect their young? Why do they run if they don’t know fear? How can they fear if they’ve no sense of loss?
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
'What we do is a service for those not strong enough to protect themselves,' he says. 'A job well done is sleep well earned.' But only the unstained may sleep and dream unopposed. For those who live to end lives, other things take precedence.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
There is fear, and there is violence, and there is blood. I see them all, and he denies them, like my notice is a fallacy, when even my name is drawn of blood.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
Amara. A name chosen for the peculiarly dark crop of amaranth which sprang up outside my family’s cottage the week I was born. The flowers were an omen my parents ignored, and I’ve not been able to escape the color or its stain since.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
Now I pass the night alone, well into the early hours, using the memory of my uncle’s words to dampen the influence of the outside world as it tries to ensnare my thoughts.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
Few have heard the words within the gale. There exist fewer still who try and listen, Gannon says, but I don’t have to listen. For me, they scream.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
All those voices afraid of being abandoned to the void of forgotten memory cry vengeance in a howling tempest, celebrating that as one more of their enemies has fallen by my hand, one of our own kind has found peace.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
I'm supposed to consider their kind as my kind, but they’re all dead. What does that make me? The wind kicks up the dust beneath my heels and joins me on the lonely road. A whispered breath to disturb the fog, and clear my path through the town’s main road.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
It lifts the edges of my trodden cloak almost playfully, so that the sanguine color means joy and not blood, if only for a moment.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
After a while, it drops its inhibition, and grows bold, leaping in gusts to coat the windows and dull the yellow lantern lights where candles burn with the last of their fuel.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
A sudden, frigid blast at my back catches me off guard, shifting the bundle on my shoulders. I have to stop so it won’t take me to the ground beneath its weight; dead weight is always heavier than in life.
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Querying. Send help! Sep 12
Replying to @JosinMcQuein
The stumble dislodges my catch so that its still-warm blood runs down and stains my cloak a deeper red. This offering entices the wind, which catches the scent and lifts it high – a banner of victory.
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