Mudança de ritmo | Change of pace

É hoje que vos apresento uma amostra da minha prosa. Sim, está em Inglês. Não, não é por ser snobe linguística, é pela facilidade de comercialização – se algum dia acabar esta história e alguém a achar digna de ser publicada.

Dêem uma vista de olhos e digam-me o que acham…

Today is the day when I show you a sample of my prose. In English, yes. It’s the most common language all around and, even though I am Portuguese and proud of my cultural inheritance and language, I though also in editorial terms – if I ever finish this and someone deems it good for publishing, English reaches many more people than my native tongue.

So take a look at it and give me your thoughs…

The Maiden Freya – Prologue

Once upon a time, in a land of princes and magic, there was a young maiden whose fate, foreseen by prophetic eyes and spoken of by prophetic lips, was that of greatness and yet, of misfortune. The foretold future was not at all unchangeable, but almost certain to become true in every way. The place of love in the young maiden’s life was yet to be known, for the blessed prophet was not to reveal the source of such happiness and grief that would come to her along her path.

This maiden’s name was that of the beauty of the day and the shine of the stars, and inspired verses to poets and bards at the sound of it, equally inspiring the heat of passion into their hearts at the sole sight of her. Thus, she was called after a divine woman of the elders, the ancient ones, and justice was done to that honour-filled name, for our maiden lived up to the reputation of the original bearer of such name. That name was that one given to the fair goddess of the Northern lands, Freya.

Freya was the Nordic goddess of love, beauty, music, spring, flowers, and such things. She was particularly protective of the Elven race, being many times called Mother of the Elves.

Unlike the goddess she was named after, though, our maiden had broad locks of black silky hair and eyes as green as the ocean and the treetops. For Freya, the deity, was a red-haired woman and possessed deep blue sweet eyes. Those of the maiden Freya were sharp and big, eyes liquid as the waters they had stolen their colour from. One could have been easily lost in those overwhelming eyes, just like the sailor would so easily lose himself in the seas because of the song of the sirens.

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