by Krystal Jane Ruin
November 1st 2017
For the last five years, Fawn has been the star soprano of a secluded opera house, forced to sing for her kidnapper.
His daughter, Devi, waits patiently in the shadows, hiding a face so horrible that no one who’s seen it will look at it again.
As Fawn plots her escape, whispers spread through the shaded corridors of dark sorcery, warning her that she must flee by the next opening night.
But when Fawn draws close to the exit, it’s Devi who’s standing in her way, leading Fawn to suspect that Devi has something to gain if she fails.
(a dark reimagining of Swan Lake)
Dark, eerie, beautiful and with a touch of magic—this tale draws into a creepily lovely world, pulls at the heartstrings and leaves a biting trail of goose bumps behind.
Kidnapped from an orphanage as a small girl, Fawn is held captive in a reclusive opera house, which flaunts the grandness of a castle. And she is the star. Every day, she sings her heart out for her captor, only to be locked away in a tower at night. But that's not the worst of it. She knows that he's waiting for something, something to do with his deformed daughter Devi, who hides her face behind a veil—a face to ugly to see.
I loved this book. It is dark, creepy and haunting, yet flaunts a touch of beauty in the luxury of a successful opera house. The two girls, Fawn and Devi, each share the story, the plot switching between both points of view in a masterful way, which leaves no room for confusion and lets the intrigue blossom and grow. The longing of both touches the heart, as they each seek their own version of freedom. But both are caught in a very dark scheme.
The writing brings the world to life in all of it's senses. The beauty of the opera house offers a lovely contrast to the dark shadows of those dwelling within. And each person's mask plays an enticing role in this deadly game like a well trained ballet. It's hard to determine who's right and who's wrong, each desire hitting the area of gray. The good and evil within both girls adds a terrific tension, making it hard to decide who to love and who to hate.
Fans of darker fiction with a touch of fairy tale and musical beauty are sure to get lost in these pages. Especially the end guarantees a perfect finish for such a tale and leaves a bitter-sweet sense of longing lingering behind.
Something cold and wet explodes on the back of my neck. For a moment, I fear the worst. A boil. Pus. My father’s description of my mother’s face plays out in my mind.
But then I hear Andrew laughing behind me. I touch the rough skin on my neck and bring a shaky and damp glove to my face. Snow. It’s just snow.
It’s the middle of the day, and my face is uncovered. To make everything worse, it’s bright outside. Freezing and overcast, but bright.
My hands fly to my face automatically.
“Are you going to let me get away with that?” Andrew laughs again.
I twist around and peek at him through my fingers.
He stands before me, his arms spread wide. A thick coat covers his arms, and in his gloved hands, he holds another snowball. “You have two seconds to stop me!”
I flip my hood over my head and drop down to gather snow in my hands.
Another snowball bursts against my head. The wetness plasters my hair to my face. I hurl my deformed ball in his direction. It misses him completely.
Another wad of snow lands on my neck while I gather a larger, rounder ball of snow. “Cheating!” I throw my handful at him. It lands weakly by his knees.
“Here, let me help you.” He climbs towards me and gathers a nice, solid ball in his fist. He hands this to me, and then stands back and spreads his arms wide again. “Try again.”
I throw it square at his nose.
“Ow!” He covers his face and cries out dramatically. “It’s in my eyes!”
“Stop it! Are you serious?” I navigate closer to him, and he falls back into the snow. I run to his side and hear laughter bubbling out from behind his hands. “Jerk!” I shovel snow over his body, and he laughs all the while.
Then he goes still. I stop.
“Andrew?” I lean in close. “Andrew?”
He lunges out of his shallow grave and tackles me to the ground.
A panicked scream leaves my body as he lands on top of me, heavy and warm. Then a strange sound comes out of my mouth. Something that’s never come out of it before. Laughter.
His braid hangs down, inches from my sunken cheek. Suddenly aware of how close his head is to mine, the laughter dies in my throat, and I slap my gloves to my cheeks.
“You have such beautiful eyes,” he says.
My breath is trapped in my chest. It hurts. I don’t know how much he can see of my face—my hood is pulled low and my hair and hands cover everything else—but I fear it’s too much.
“Andrew . . .”
And here she is. . .
Krystal is the author of supernatural and paranormal fiction, living in the Tennessee Valley with a collection of swords and daggers. When she's not hoarding stuffed pandas, hourglasses, and Hello Kitty replicas, she can be found in YouTube hole or blogging about books, writing, and random things at KrystalSquared.net.
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