WIP Introduction: Death’s HandSynopsis:It’s been two years since Valeska Jelínková’s small village w
WIP Introduction: Death’s HandSynopsis:It’s been two years since Valeska Jelínková’s small village was destroyed in the war with the neighbouring republic. Now she’s a priest at the Grand Cathedral in the empires capital serving Zovdi - the goddess of death - and trying desperately to put the pieces of her broken life back together. But when she learns that the destruction of her village and the murder of her loved one’s was not a tragic casualty of war but a calculated choice made by the empire she calls home she turns to her goddess to make all those involved pay.Possible trilogy Genre:Dark fantasy with cosmic horror/eldritch themes Content warnings:Death / murder / suicide / body horror / gore / war / discussions of mental health / this will be added to as more things arise Links: Pinterest board / Valeska’s playlist / Zhanna’s playlist / Jakub’s playlist / Tumblr tag / Valeska’s tag / Zhanna’s tag / Jakub’s tagOpening Extract:The corpse was a peaceful thing. Valeska ran a gentle hand over her skin, cool and hard from where the winter have staved off the rot, and closed her eyes. “Where in Ravskoz did you say you were from?”“Malyin,” Božena replied with an eagerness that came only to those desperate to voice their grief.“Malyin,” Valeska breathed. It was one of the larger towns. She’d been there once or twice with her father when the storms had driven the travelling merchants to bypass their village. It’d had a market willing to buy their milk and cheese and the people there had given them shelter and stew to warm their bones. She opened her eyes and looked once more at the little girl, unmoving and unfeeling, laid on the table before her. Eva, was her name. The stillness was unnatural. Something so close to living you could trick your eyes into believing she was simply sleeping. “Did she die on the journey here?”“No, no we’ve been here for two months now.”Valeska took a seat next to Eva and clasped her hand, so small and fragile, in her own. “Hunger, then?”When Božena didn’t respond Valeska turned her head to see the stout woman gazing at the ceiling, her hand gripping her husbands arm so tightly her knuckles had turned a sickly white. Her husbands face, in turn, was blank. -- source link
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