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"Prologue to Book I Am Writing (Book is still unnamed)" by KatherineMS03

This is basically insight on why Megan (the baby) lives with her Aunt. Most of Megan's family is magical, her Aunt is one of the few exceptions. In order to become magical both parents must be, and then you still only have a 50% chance. The more time you are around magical people the more chance you get. And vise versa if you spend no time around magical people you have a smaller chance. Megan's parents didn't want her to become magical, so they sent her to her Aunt's to give her the best chanc

Category: Book Chapter

Tags: prologue, fantasy, Greek, child, birth, pain, happiness, baby, magic, fiction, abandon, seperation, love, romance, dark, light

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“You’re almost there Marie. Just relax sweetie; you can do it. Alright prepare for the next contraction.”

Marie’s high pitched scream rang through the house as the contraction’s searing pain overwhelmed her. Breathe, she told herself. Her head felt heavy, too heavy. She took another breath, disregarding the pain, and pushed one more time. Sweat dripped from her body, her clothes clung to ever inch of her body. She tried to concentrate, but she was fading and she couldn’t keep her mind in reality.

The world went blurry around her, everything seemed as if was moving five times slower than her. Her breathing was so loud. Everyone’s lips were moving, talking, but she could here nothing but her breathing, her loud, rigid breathing. The pain was taking her, it was too much. She hung on by an invisible thread. She was loosing, she could see the black mask pushing down on her. She tried to pull herself out of the black by a thread that seemed to attach her to reality, but the thread had no substance. The one piece of reality she had torn away leaving her holding a detached piece of string. She looked for something to hold onto, something to keep her from slipping into the black, but there was nothing but solitude. Breathe. She felt water all around her. Her chest weighed her down, and she was drowning in the water.

There was a tearing noise, and then she felt a cold breeze lapping at her skin, her muscles relaxed, her breathing changed from panic to weariness. She waited for the pain to come back; instead cold came to her, and it replaced the hot sticky water, sweat, which was once there.

Slowly she came back. Black was replaced by a blurred image. In the image there were three fuzzy statues. As the picture became clearer the statues became people. She recognized Jack immediately. He smiled down at her, and she couldn’t help but to return the smile. She then looked to the person next to Jack, and then Jack’s sister came into focus, her sister-in-law. The last person she couldn’t make a connection with. She knew she had something to do with her blackness, and the pain. Then she saw what was in this unidentified lady’s arms. It was a child, wrapped in a pink blanket. Her daughter.

Then everything came back. A flashback of her previous nine months played before her eyes, and then the pain. She pushed the image away before she slipped away again, and instead reached for her child. The lady cautiously, as if on unstable ice, walked forward. Marie recognized her now, she knew the lady from the doctor’s office.

Marie reached out to meet her child. She took her, and looked at her daughter’s face. The face was that of an angel’s. Brown, curly hair seemed to swallow her head. The swaddled infant’s little eyes opened to meet her mom’s. Marie stared down to see the greenest her eyes she had ever seen. She couldn’t help but to be taken back by their beauty. A smile crossed the child’s face, and then her eyes closed, and her breathing fell even.

Marie looked out the window to see the darkness. It was just this morning when she was awakened by the fatal contraction. It felt so far away; when in reality it had just been hours ago. She focused back to the night outside her window, where the moon’s light overpowered the darkness. The light of the moon would always overpower the darkness of the night.

She looked back down to her daughter, who slept soundly in her arms. A tear rolled down Marie’s already sweat stained face. She shakily got her breath, looked down one more time, and said with more steadiness than she thought she would, the line she had practiced for nine months, “What are we going to do with her?”




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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy the chapter. The chapter was okay. I really enjoyed the chapter.

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Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not credible, interesting or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters where somewhat credible, interesting and unique. I partially understand their thoughts, feelings, and actions. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters where credible, interesting and unique. I thoroughly understand their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and started to care about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Chapter Ending

If there is another chapter I don’t have any desire to read it. The ending was OK. I am not dying to know what happens next but I am interested in finding out. The ending left me craving the next chapter. I have to know what happens next.

Category Name: Setting

I don’t know when or where this chapter takes place. The setting was inadequately described or inappropriately used. I know when and where the chapter takes place but I can only vaguely picture it in my mind. The setting did not add to or distract from the chapter. I know when and where the chapter takes place. The setting enhanced the chapter and helped me better understand the characters or plot.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

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Category Name: Dialog

The dialog caused more confusion than clarification about the characters. It was almost impossible to follow. Some of the dialog helped me learn about the characters and revealed new facets of their personalities. I could follow the dialog when paying close attention. The dialog helped me learn about the characters and revealed new facets of their personalities. The dialog flowed well and was easy to follow.

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1. “You’re almost there Marie. Just relax sweetie; you can do it. Alright prepare for the next contraction.”

2. Marie’s high pitched scream rang through the house as the contraction’s searing pain overwhelmed her. Breathe, she told herself. Her head felt heavy, too heavy. She took another breath, disregarding the pain, and pushed one more time. Sweat dripped from her body, her clothes clung to ever inch of her body. She tried to concentrate, but she was fading and she couldn’t keep her mind in reality.

3. The world went blurry around her, everything seemed as if was moving five times slower than her. Her breathing was so loud. Everyone’s lips were moving, talking, but she could here nothing but her breathing, her loud, rigid breathing. The pain was taking her, it was too much. She hung on by an invisible thread. She was loosing, she could see the black mask pushing down on her. She tried to pull herself out of the black by a thread that seemed to attach her to reality, but the thread had no substance. The one piece of reality she had torn away leaving her holding a detached piece of string. She looked for something to hold onto, something to keep her from slipping into the black, but there was nothing but solitude. Breathe. She felt water all around her. Her chest weighed her down, and she was drowning in the water.

4. There was a tearing noise, and then she felt a cold breeze lapping at her skin, her muscles relaxed, her breathing changed from panic to weariness. She waited for the pain to come back; instead cold came to her, and it replaced the hot sticky water, sweat, which was once there.

5. Slowly she came back. Black was replaced by a blurred image. In the image there were three fuzzy statues. As the picture became clearer the statues became people. She recognized Jack immediately. He smiled down at her, and she couldn’t help but to return the smile. She then looked to the person next to Jack, and then Jack’s sister came into focus, her sister-in-law. The last person she couldn’t make a connection with. She knew she had something to do with her blackness, and the pain. Then she saw what was in this unidentified lady’s arms. It was a child, wrapped in a pink blanket. Her daughter.

6. Then everything came back. A flashback of her previous nine months played before her eyes, and then the pain. She pushed the image away before she slipped away again, and instead reached for her child. The lady cautiously, as if on unstable ice, walked forward. Marie recognized her now, she knew the lady from the doctor’s office.

7. Marie reached out to meet her child. She took her, and looked at her daughter’s face. The face was that of an angel’s. Brown, curly hair seemed to swallow her head. The swaddled infant’s little eyes opened to meet her mom’s. Marie stared down to see the greenest her eyes she had ever seen. She couldn’t help but to be taken back by their beauty. A smile crossed the child’s face, and then her eyes closed, and her breathing fell even.

8. Marie looked out the window to see the darkness. It was just this morning when she was awakened by the fatal contraction. It felt so far away; when in reality it had just been hours ago. She focused back to the night outside her window, where the moon’s light overpowered the darkness. The light of the moon would always overpower the darkness of the night.

9. She looked back down to her daughter, who slept soundly in her arms. A tear rolled down Marie’s already sweat stained face. She shakily got her breath, looked down one more time, and said with more steadiness than she thought she would, the line she had practiced for nine months, “What are we going to do with her?”

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