Hello! This is the prequel to my novel, Ever Wayward. So... have a look? It isn't very long, but I am worried if it is too cliche.
Chapter One, Scene One
A trickle of water dripped upon the stone, echoing through the prison. The lonesome shadow yielded to the fall of dusk, as the last of the sun descended beyond the orange yonder. From the crack in the wall, Seridon saw the horizon darken, and nightfall steal the land. Blood leaked from the skies in streaks, readying death’s march. An odour trailed in through the cell bars, passing under Seridon’s nose. He cringed at the ill taste, but remained rooted upon his stool. A figure moved passed the cell, barely noticeable under the series of candles, lined up along the passageway. A clasped hand crept in, and within an instance they had withdrawn. In its wake, something smashed against the ground. Seridon knew it. They called it food, but the flavour could sting life in a dragon. At length, he rose, and moved over to the rusty plate. Its sparkle had gone, for else wise it would have mirrored the candles. All shine was leaving.
The footsteps past on, and through the darkness, a pair of eyes looked upon Seridon. No body held them, and they appeared to float amid the shadows. A side of Seridon expected to then see a sceptre move through the candles and touch him, wheeling him into the land of the dead, where some now yearned to be. The eyes remained fixed upon him.
“Does something long to speak through your sordid mouth?” snarled Seridon, barely flinching at the figure.
A long silence followed, until an echo broke loose. “Your kind has been here before; you have blood on your hands.”
“Stay your tongue, maggot,” said Seridon coldly, “lest I claim you in sport.”
“Oh! And who might you be to dominate my mind? Sink beneath the favour of your kinsmen, and drag all who might tell you of such fate with you! You have no power in here! Captain of the King eh?” he mocked.
“Your scorns will soon end upon my strike’s fall!” Seridon growled.
“Ha! Do not you see? You disgrace your people! So what better to do than lock you away, and pray that the gods destroy you? Your name marks shame upon your family, and all children of Serigiil! You do not deem my reason? Yes, you will die in here, wherefore better soon and let the crows feast upon your body’s rot!”
“Silence! I will have you rot, fiend! Go! Go roll in the pit with dogs. Let me see your face! I would remove it, if only these cells were not so blocked!” Seridon’s voice roared across the room, storming the ground, and he leapt over to the barriers, kicking with a mighty foot. His loathe for the criminal was strong, yet his denial was deniable. Suddenly, his anger swept aside, and he stopped and rested his head against the bars. A cackle pierced across to him, and the eyes faded into the dark.
“Do not wrong I, or my honour,” Seridon whispered, “for these hands shall tear you.”
