A snippet (perhaps a prologue?) taken from my current writing project.
Most call it the Fall. As a child I used to think it was because the trees turned a brilliant shade of ruby every year. When they called me one of the Fallen I laughed, imagining myself as a spinning amber leaf tumbling in the wind. Now I know better.
Vos Ruhlar does not mean spinning leaves or laughing sunsets. It’s what they called us long ago when they built the Gates, locked them tight, and left us to die. It’s what they called us when they spat in our faces and murdered our starving children. They said it was out of pity, that death was the greatest kindness to an empty soul. They said we’d never achieve anything other than darkness, that we had no thoughts, no feelings, no purpose. We are the Vos Ruhlar, the hollow souls, the Fallen.
But I can assure you we are not empty.