I'll enter. I'll post my prologue, then pay you, ok?
Here it is:
Kerron watched the dance with little interest. They were all the same-see one and you’ve seen them all. Then something caught his eye. A flash of colour in an otherwise drab place. There it was again. It was a person, a girl! Without giving a thought as to how she got in (it was easy to see she was skilled at capturing people’s attention, and therefore could, theoretically, get in anywhere) Kerron noticed how she had the guards-and anyone else who looked-captivated. Including him. The way she twirled, round and round, seeming not to have a care in the world. It was captivating, “Who’s she?” He asked, but don’t know if any one heard him. Colours blur at the edges, merging into one, until all he could see was this girl, this strange girl with bright clothes and a captivating dance, until everything went black.
***
If you looked around the market place, you would see the usual-traders shouting to be heard, trying to best each other in their offers of “buy one get one free!” and “practically giving these away!” all dressed in what they thought was brightly coloured clothing-reds and blues and greens. Then let us choose a stall at random-say that one right at the centre of the market-and take a closer look. What’s for sale at this one? Seems to be just junk, bits and bobs nobody wants, nobody needs, but people buy anyway, because of the allure of being able to buy something because you can. Shifting through the mess, you’d pick out a toy doll missing and arm, an old, torn book, a wind-up mouse, old paint, basically anything you’d never really want or need. Now, lets take a look at the trader, the owners of this stall, shall we? The first thing you notice, not the lights in the hair, not the blue-green-grey eyes, not even the fact that she’s a girl when all other traders are men, no. The first thing you would notice is her clothes. Don’t know why, though. They aren’t even in especially unusual condition. But now you see why you were attracted. They are colourful. Bright, multi-coloured pieces of artwork all in themselves, these seem not to be repaired with the odd bit of cloth, but seem to be made of patches. They are frayed at the edges, with no stitches to think off, and yet this just seems to add to their allure, not take away from it, as it would on any other clothes. This stall-holder-this girl, for she cannot be more than 15-has a long trench coat made in this way, and her trousers are too, their overly-sized flares, piling on the table and she lifts her legs up. She noticed you looking. Turn away, quick. But try as you might, you can’t stop you self from staring, from reaching out a hand to see what these strange, these wonderful clothes feel like. Just as your hand reaches out, she slaps it away “Oi! No touching!” and the spell is broken. You look up from where you were about to touch the trousers, and see this person smiling at you. She takes her legs down form the table, and crosses them under herself, getting into a more comfortable position, “So, you’re new around here,” she says, just waving away the people she was talking to before, and they drift off, just happy she noticed them, in their dull clothes, for that is true, you notice, all people’s clothes are dull, all except this girl’s here, the bright ones that so captivated you not a minute before, “Hey, I asked you a question! Where you from?” Without looking, you can tell she means it as a joke, for she, you here and now see, is grinning, “You’re new. I always get to know every one, and start as early as possible.” When you still don’t answer, she sighs, common annoyance in her face, “Lets start with the basics, shall we? My name is Cassandra, although everyone calls me Cass. And you have a name, I presume? What is it?” You try to answer, but find yourself tongue-tied, your eyes, while no, longer on her clothes, on her hair. Strange lights move through it, and it now turns grey-blue with exasperation, while before it was light blue with annoyance. She picks it up, shoulder-length it is, and holds it away from her head, “Maybe if I cut it off, then you’ll be able to concentrate then?” and proceeds to search her stall for some scissors.
You manage to find your voice, not able to bare the thought of that hair being simply shorn off, it falling to the ground, the lights dieing, slowly fading away, till you are just left with plain hair, lying on the floor in the muck, “Kerron,” you lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry, “My name’s Kerron,” moving away from her hair, in a vain attempt to rescue yourself, climb out of this hole you have dug, you look at her face. Chin, mouth, nose, all normal. Even the eyebrows are ok. Just plain, nothing special. Then you look at her eyes, and everything changes. Colours start to blur around you, you feel yourself falling, falling down into the pitch black, where only she has colour, the only light in the dark, terrible place…
***
Looking over at the sleeping Kerron, Cass, the colourful girl, who captivates people, full of charisma and empathy, was worried. Not because the boy, for he was only 16 to 17, just a boy, had fainted, as he hadn’t suffered serious damage, just a couple of light bruises that hardly needed her tough to calm them down. But because he couldn’t take his eyes off her. It wasn’t an intimidating look; she wasn’t worried about him being in her room, sleeping. But it was wide eyed, a look that she had only seen once before, turning her insides to jelly, and he legs weak, and it had ended up killing her. Literally. The only reason she was alive at all was that she found that Death didn’t like his realm being decorating in shades of multi-colour. What a pity. She could have made it look nice.
The wide-eyed look was worrying because it meant he had been captivated by her, like he had, a lifetime before, at that ball, when she had been in a fight with her murder, her first lover, and had gone to that ball to escape. It was worrying because her murder, the one she had loved once before, was Kerron’s brother, and Kerron the brother of him. It meant that he couldn’t resist her, not for long, and she had trouble not liking him back. But it couldn’t happen again. She may not be able to get a ticket back to life this time, if she was killed. Kerron shifted, moaning slightly. Warble had given him some potion that she said would stop him staring at Cass, and not be so entranced by her every move. It would come out eventually, as it always did, but not until they were both ready for it. He would also not remember, if the potion worked properly, and of the little episode. Kerron turned over again. He was about to wake, so Cass got up to leave, saying, “I’m not ready yet, please, make him forget,” and pushed open the tent flap, out into the sunlight.
Paid.
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