Novel: Enchantress (working title)

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Hello. This seems like it will be very interesting, but I think you need a better hook. Your opening paragraph didn't draw me in very well. Your descriptions are lovely and I didn't see any spelling/grammatical/etc. errors! *claps* I was surprised to see that you were writing in the 2nd person. That is very difficult for me to do, but you seem to write in 2nd person with ease. Just be careful. It is very easy to accidentally switch tenses.

Good work. I will definitely be reading more.

Sasha

I really like the suspense you're building up. But I think that you could possibly have written the hook better too. Did you even really need a prolouge? Was it necessary? Maybe it would be better if one of the children are going to be the main character, they could have flashbacks. I'm really excited to read the next parts. Inform me when more come out!

Hello! It's Stella here!

I. NITPICKS

Spring has come early, as though it knows that, inside the house, a new life is beginning.

I'm not sure about the punctuation, but this does seem a bit off here. Maybe that's just me, but it seems very broken up by the commas.

full of the beauty of nature,

I'll believe that, but also think for a moment what a woman who just gave birth really looks like, hair plastered to a sweaty screwed up face and all. Not pretty. Why not mention that and show how this beauty shines through it?

He will give it his love. And it will love him back.

He loves her so much he calls her an "it"? Oh, that's fatherly .

Okay...

II. RUN-ON SENTENCES

You write very well, but your sentences are kind of long. Like the first one. Remember the first line should grip us, should drag us in, and though yours is pretty, it doesn't really serve that purpose. Don't be afraid to break your sentences up. It'll make things easier to follow for us, too many clauses and the simple reader like me goes "wha'?" Just read over it. Here's a good idea, say it under your breath, anything you find yourself gasping for breath in the middle of is too long. (Of course, now I bet you're an opera singer or a deep sea diver or someone else with really big lungs.) Just try it though

III. OVERALL

I like this. I wondered where it was going, but your last paragraph wraps it up nicely. This is well-written- good job!

Hope I helped- drop me a note if you need anything!

-Stella x

Hey, Rena here.
I don't have anything in regards of grammar or anything like that, more as interest. This was fairly interesting, I give you that. It makes me wonder what comes next. But then I think, 'what in the world is this about?' Maybe it's just me but it doesn't really tell what the story is truly about. Also, the hook wasn't really all that appealing. It didn't snatch my interest and hold it there. I had to almost force myself to go ahead and read it. Not to say that it was torture to get through the first paragraph. It just simply wasn't as great as it could have been. Try working a little on that hook(:
Bottom line, it was a good prologue.

-Rena.

I know this probably doesn't help, but here are my reasons for a couple of the things you've picked up on: first, you're right, but the one predominant characteristic of this woman is that she is beautiful, and also that nothing shines through from the inside of her personality. The 'it' was difficult, because if I say 'she' it sounds like I'm referring to the mother; anyway, their relationship is a bit odd and it's set in a different place with different values where children (especially girls) don't have much importance. And, really unhelpful, yes, I do have huge lungs.

Never mind that, thanks so much for commenting and, since you're probably right, I'll have a look at all those things. One thing I've definitely taken on board is the hook thing, which I'll work on when I remember to. Great to finally have some constructive critiscism!

I thought I should at least post the first chapter, though I haven't decided yet if I want to post the whole thing. I wonder how you think it works with the prologue? I've recently rewritten a lot with this so I'm anxious to know if it was worth it.

1

Perdie couldn't sleep. Junsy was keeping her awake again, singing his favourite song, ‘Gorgons are vegetarians’, loudly and tunelessly in the room next to her.

“Gorgons are vegetarians
The most humane of beasts
They eat red beet instead of meat
At all their stony feasts.

Gorgons are vegetarians
But when those girls unite –
Convene with beans and other greens –
You shouldn’t be in sight.

Gorgons are vegetarians
We may not understand:
Repulsed by pulses, we convulse
But they’ve got it in hand.

Gorgons are vegetarians
You may be justly vexed,
When bone is grown to stolid stone
But at least a cow’s not next.”

She'd learnt long ago it was useless to argue with him, because Kuggo, their carer, always took Junsy's side. It was a gift he had: everyone liked him, and he had no trouble with strangers. It looked, she thought, rather as though he had her share of friendliness. For her, new places were boring: just like home, but with pretensions to rather than actual grandeur; new people were just more noise, more habits and personalities to learn, other voices to patronise her and wonder why she wasn’t more like everyone else.
Interaction with anyone, even people she knew, wasn’t Perdie’s strong point. Etiquette irritated her and she didn’t understand it; friends were leaden weights with preformed opinions; Junsy and Kuggo were worse. Only with her father could she have a conversation as equals, and what use was that when he was always away?

Perdie was the daughter of the noble Lady Lucrezia di Crosatrati, and the Grand Duke of Pelagi, Gregofel Duminar, the most powerful peer in the realm. He spent most of his time at court, and a good deal of the rest of it working out business in the lands he held. Her mother was dead, and came back to her only in snatches of memory from when she was very small.
The Duminars, an ancient bloodline, could be traced back centuries, right back to eleventh-great-grandpapa Rivelo Duminar, who had built Pelagi Hall almost four hundred years ago. He was the biggest mystery of all. There were myths surrounding him, strange tales of how he had attained his fortune and title, stories of his second head and fangs, or the thousands of slaves he terrified into submission. People said he had been mad, but Papa insisted he hadn’t. Of course, Papa was always right, so the matter lay unchallenged in the Duminar household.
It was an old house, an ancestral home, the largest in the country excepting the Empress’ palaces further south, and it had lasted. The reason for this, Perdie had been told by her father, and it was common knowledge, was that it had been built with magic.
This meant, not that a wand had been waved and the house had materialised, but that when the house had been built, as the stones had been piled upon one another enchantments, also, had been piled, woven into the walls as a safeguard against decay and violence. How this had come about was uncertain, and it was generally considered that, as a powerful man, Rivelo had simply asked for the assistance of the enchanters in the land. The imagination of the people, however, told that through the strange powers with which he had made his fortune, he had summoned demons to do the work for him, and that the house was cursed.
Either way, the magic worked into the house was of quite phenomenal power, something alien to the age in which they lived and indeed any age, something far, far beyond the abilities of the handful of enchanters alive at present. Perdie liked it: its smell, its assurance that while other houses might crumble away, this one would stand firm.
Of all the house and everything in it, what used most magic was the staircase. The main staircase, that is to say, because there were others, servants’ staircases, and smaller ones in different wings – but for the staircase, Pelagi Hall was famed across the Empire. True, it creaked now when it was climbed; true, the intricately patterned carpet lying over it had become threadbare and worn, but these were the marks of time and usage, not of ill-workmanship. And still, after over three and a half centuries of existence, its magnificence stunned all who saw it.
In the centre of the second floor was a great hole, to make room for the first stretch of staircase, suspended by a spell so potent it was felt not only by trained enchanters, but by ordinary folk, as well. At the wall, the staircase became a small, square landing, from which sprouted another two staircases, curling round on either side of the circular room. Perdie loved this staircase as part of her life and being; Junsy and even her father could not appear to understand her and her life as well as the staircase.
It was down this staircase that Perdie now went, holding her bedclothes, aiming for one of the smaller sitting rooms, where she could sleep on a chaise longue or a sofa. Kuggo would be angry if she found out – but she needn’t, and she would be angrier herself in the morning without having slept. Junsy, she thought with annoyance, could wake at midday tomorrow. She, on the other hand, would be punished if she came down any later than eight.
Perdie's feet were light, her form slim and agile, but even these fortunes were not enough to grant her success tonight.
“Perdalia!” Kuggo emerged from the shadows, in her hand a rod which Perdie knew only too well. “Out of bed, are we?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” said Perdie, “Junsy –”
The eyes narrowed. Oh, of course, she knew, but she was tired – never mention Junsy. Don’t blame him, don’t praise him in case it be construed as sarcasm. Just leave him out of everything. The rod was brought forward so that she could see it better, and Perdie felt the sinking in her stomach as she remembered the last time she had seen it – and the time before that, and before that as well. This was going to hurt.

*

“And that's her name?” Gair looked at Tad, eyes wide in incredulity.
“Her Highness the Illustrious Grand Duchess Perdalia Tiernezia Estrellania di Crosatrati Duminar. Yeah, it's her name!” His uncle gave him a glance which told him exactly where he stood, still, after six months: the new boy, knowing nothing.
“But it’s so long! I mean, we, the rest of us, we have two names. A first one, and a surname. Don’t you think it’s strange?”
“No. See, the rest of us might have different names, but she’s not the rest of us. She and her family are different.”
“Why? I don’t understand why they’re better than us. Why don’t we get more names?”
“Just because this village is closer to the house than the other Duminar properties doesn’t give us privileges, boy. Just be grateful for what you’ve got.”
That wasn’t what Gair had meant. He didn’t want more names; that was just confusing, and it made a person sound stupid. Like that girl. He meant that he didn’t see why she was better than him in the first place, why other people felt she was worthy of that name and he of his. Gair Treharne.
From over his shoulder, Tad called at him, “And feed the chickens, Gair!”
The chickens. His uncle’s farm was small, home only to a donkey, a cow and seven chickens. Since he had moved from his home village several miles away, Gair had grown to despise these birds as the amalgam of all he disliked about his new home.
They were ugly, noisy animals, easily scared and ridiculously stupid. He aimed kicks at them as he walked into the pen. It wasn't his fault he was here – he hadn't asked to come, but after the death of his father, his mother hadn’t been able to cope. His uncle was a well-meaning sort of man, but gruff and distant; his life here was no replacement for the comfort, the sense of belonging he had felt at home.
The chickens clucked around his ankles; Gair shoved his hand into the pouch of grain and watched the brainless creatures flap over to where he threw it. A tear, unrepressed, rolled down his cheek.
The tear was quickly followed by another – then another, then another, until he was hunched over in agony, his face smeared, red marks forming where he pressed his eyes in an effort to stop himself. What was the point of life? Why should he stay alive, if this was all it had in store for him?
“I can’t do it,” he groaned, quite conscious that talking to oneself was supposed to be the first sign of madness, “I can’t do it any more.” He couldn’t spend his life in this endless boredom, this cycle of work and reward, feed the chickens and collect the eggs.
Then he sat up, suddenly, the tears ceasing in one last, hiccoughing sob, and ran out of the pen, leaving the gate banging behind him, up the path, on and on to anywhere which might take him away from… From everything.

XD. Ok, I'm not really *qualifyed* to reply to this, but I just randomly came across it. Obviously, you like big names! Don't expect any constructive criticism from me: I couldn't find anything to critisise! Lucrezia is definately a lot better than Ormaldiria, or whatever it used to be. You've also linked the reference to the enchanter in the text to the title. I particularily like the last paragraph, you can really feel Gair's emotions.