Hi there.
I’m going to be vulnerable for a moment.
I wrote this book (working title “Synia”) over the last 5 years, and finished it up back in April. Since then, I’ve been holding onto it, willing myself to send out queries. But the fear of rejection, and the knowledge that it’s likely not a “sellable” book, has kept me back from actually sending out any letters.
To force myself to do something, I’d like to share the prologue with you all. The story is about a pair of siblings who are Syniae, or creatures who have magical gifts based on synesthesia.
If you would like to know more, I’ll be happy to blab on about it ad nauseam. If you know of any publishers or literary agents who are interested in such a story, please let me know. If this falls into the empty void, well…that’s also feedback that I need.
Thank you for reading the above, and I hope you enjoy the prologue below:
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Grey.
Everything was grey. The sky, the walls, the fog inside her head. Even her tormentor’s eyes were a piercing, unforgiving grey. It was the color that invaded her every thought from the moment she awoke until the moment she finally passed out.
Long ago, there used to be a spectrum. She vaguely recalled the melody of a forest green, the sweet sound of a tempting red, the echo of a vibrant yellow. That was an æon ago. Now, she was reduced to monochrome, the lifeless color of a rainy day.
Today, she had opted for a change of scenery. Instead of spending the entire day in bed, staring at the grey ceiling, she instead sat next to the grey-filtered transpane along one of the walls, watching the mist that enveloped the view.
Suddenly, a low, silky voice called from behind through the mental mist:
“Oh good, you’re up. I was beginning to wonder if I had finally broken you.” The disembodied tone had an air of amusement to it, as though it had told a clever inside joke.
She scowled in reply, but did not turn to search for the source of the voice. She had no words for the man. Words had color to them, and this Orb didn’t allow for that.
“I see. Just as conversational as ever,” mused her captor. “Come now, have I not earned some conversation at this point? We’ve both held up our ends of the bargain. You’re fully cooperative now and haven’t tried to escape in quite some time, and you can clearly see the benefits. Your living quarters are quite generous, and I do try to make sure you’re well fed. For all intents and purposes, you are far more my guest than my prisoner at this point.”
And it was true. The sleeping room she was currently sitting in was rather large, and contained a bed, a small table, and two chairs, one of which she occupied. Attached to it was a respectable bathing room, complete with a tub. There was even a small cooking and eating room across a small, narrow hallway. She should have been comfortable. There were just two major problems: she was here against her will, and everything was that same damnable shade.
When she didn’t hear the sound of her “host’s” footsteps echoing away from her prison,
her curiosity and anger got the better of her. Almost subconsciously, she turned and gave him a withering glance. The man lurked in the entryway. To the prisoner, he was barely more than a silhouette. What little she could see was distorted by the filtered light, which was designed to reduce everything to the same washed-out shade. Slate shoes and the bottom half of a charcoal suit protruded into frame, along with a pair of ashen hands clasped in front of his sharkskin belt.
He responded to her glare by tugging slightly at the cuff of his sleeve, almost as if he were uncomfortable. It was a ruse, she knew; they had played this scenario out before. She turned back to face the table and transpane as the Grey Man strode in from the entryway behind her. His footsteps tapped a muffled rhythm on the shaggy grey carpet. In another life, she could have made a song from it. Now, it was just another sound to interrupt the monotony echoing pointlessly in her mind.
When he reached the remaining chair across from her, he paused before sitting, and instead looked down at her calculatedly for a moment. Then, he pulled her forward across the small, round table by her chin, forcing her brown eyes to meet his grey, only a couple centimeters apart. She was a bit in shock at the action, but did not dare show it on her face. He had never been this aggressive before.
“Tell me, Synia, what makes you hate me so much? After all, you invited me. I merely gave you everything you asked for,” he purred.
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then just as quickly returned to the hostile glare she had perfected in the last year. He had just given her the ability to escape, but he didn’t know it.
Yet.
She fought to keep her thoughts from showing on her face, taking care to ensure that the mask was firmly in place. Fortunately, he misunderstood the lapse.
“Ahhh, yes. The truth is rather uncomfortable, isn’t it? Just think: if your curiosity and desperation hadn’t gotten the better of you, you wouldn’t be here, and this whole mess could have been avoided. How selfish of you,” he said, almost a whisper. The man thrust her chin away, forcing her to break eye contact and instead focus on her balance. He smirked slightly as he stood up and faced the entryway.
“Still, thanks to you, I have been given the greatest gift of all! Thanks to you, I’m free to move as I wish, and every whim I could think of is catered to my specific design!” His voice rose slightly with each sentence, as if convincing himself that it was true.
He paused and when he spoke again, his voice was back to its usual silk: “Before too long now, I’ll have cracked the code and you will truly be at my mercy. I’m getting oh so close. And when I do figure it out, I will be able to be rid of you for good. Until then…“ He trailed off dramatically as he walked towards the door. She did not turn to watch him leave.
His footsteps paused behind her, and there was complete silence for several seconds. Her curiosity once again betrayed her. As she turned, she saw him standing with his back to her, the grey fob in his hand extended to unlock the door. However, he didn’t activate it. Instead, he had waited until he knew she was watching to leave his parting shot. His voice returned to the deadly not-quite-whisper:
“Well, that’s the only reason you’re still alive.”
He activated the fob; the door clicked open. She had already turned her back to the door once again by the time he had crossed over the threshold. There was a sound of the electomag lock bolt sliding back into place, followed by gentle footsteps that retreated back into the silence.
She closed her eyes and exhaled softly, like she had a million times before. Only this time, there was a monumental difference: he had finally made an error. He had been so careful in the last four-hundred-and-thirty-two days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes to make sure that her entire life had no color except grey. Every single surface and feature had been carefully selected to prevent her from using her gift.
They had shaved her head every other day or so, leaving nothing but a faint, grey stubble. Her now threadbare clothes had been carefully selected to be comfortable, but monochromatic. There were no mirrors, and every surface that could have possibly held a reflection was scratched or matted down, so she could not see herself. And her tattoos…she still couldn’t think about that, even as she subconsciously touched the scars on her left forearm where one of them used to be. She was to be as much grey as the room itself. But they could not change her eyes.
Her brown eyes.
For an instant, as he held her gaze so close to his own, the filtered light was broken by his own shadow, and his wintery stare became twin mirrors. For the first time in three-hundred-and-ninety-six days, eight hours, and twenty minutes, she saw a color. And she remembered.
She remembered what brown felt like.
That tiny glimpse was all she needed. It was the spark of hope she had been waiting for, that she had almost given up on. She had a color; a good one, even. For the first time in her life, she was grateful that her eyes were the color of cesspools, as he had once described them.
Now all she had to do was focus, plan, and wait for the perfect moment. She had all the time in the Orb. After all, he stupidly thought she was beaten.
