Excerpt from an Untitled YA Fantasy Novel-Rough Draft

[EtherealAria]

Hello! This story is one of two YA books I'm currently writing. Most of the books I read are for young adults, though I'm 21, so maybe one of these days I'll graduate to more complex stories I really don't have that much experience in writing. A little, but not a lot. It is a first draft, so there are a lot of problems with it.
Critiques and comments are very much appreciated! I'd love to get some feedback! Anything helps!
A little background to the plot is necessary, because there is a lot to it.
First off the setting:
The late 1800s, around the Victorian era, but set in an imaginary world with its own workings and culture. The whole society is obsessed with wax and candles, and sculpting wax figures and statues, only to burn them and watch them melt, as one would a gigantic candle.
May Royfelder is the central character, who gets violently molested on the night of her 13th birthday. After the event takes place, she develops a deep-seeded loathing and fear towards men.
I'm planning to have the first third of the book focus on May's early teenage years, covering the time she got raped, and briefly skimming over the months leading up to when she conceives her daughter, who is born blind. Then flash forward 4 years to when she sets of on her quest.
The story has kind of a pseudo Alice and Wonderland feel to it, or it will eventually, once the main character sets off on a journey to the strange, silvery land beyond the walls of Cheston Towne, to find an enchanted blue rose that just may heal her daughter on the brink of death. I wanted to make the story elements fresh and original, and avoid going down the rut of using all of those well-worn cliches you'd find now and then in the YA genre.
There is a lot more to the story, but I tried to squeeze in the most important of the elements.


Every other bridge post held sconces, with candles aflame, of citrus and of spearmint, evoking zeal and cheeriness. But it did nothing to sway me from my foremost directive. I had made sure this bridge was little used, and right now, there was no one in eyesight.

There I sat, my legs dangling over the edge of the bridge, head declined toward the roaring Andarous below; far, far below. Its rapids spewed mist high into the air, reaching my toes and sprinkling water particles in my face. Nothing-no one could stop me now; this was it.
Oh, how the mighty river called, pulling my soul towards the heavy darkness lurking under its surface. I remembered one moment in my life, a time where my family truly held me in contentment and regard. But that time had, as fleeting as a rain swell, receded away, out of my clutches.

There was nothing left for me. The songs of the dead, admonishment from the deep river, a siren’s call; and her plead. A breeze lifted from the east, and caused far more spray from the rapids than usual, soaking my hair and irritating my eyes.
I had heard tales, of young girls like I, to whom the river had claimed. They too had the brand of Penance, and when hope had deserted them, they took their lives. Some said they had lost their senses, caught delirium; the fumes from candle-making had induced it. But I thought otherwise, these girls were sane. Though, their stories were lost in the threads of history; just like my own would be.
The voices that now called to me from below, in the waters, were them, the souls of the deceased. Now I too shall join, it is meant to be.
Calm, deep breaths. Like that ever would help. I inched my way further over the bridge, and slid the rest of my torso through the railing, then my shoulders, and lastly my head. No more barriers; just me and the ledge, and the racing water.

Everything up to this point in my life had meant little, if nothing. If anyone dared pass over this old bridge, I would jump before they had a chance to stop me, and it was an insensible likelihood that anyone would give the slightest concern.
The siren’s song, the river’s serenade grew louder in my eardrums –
Put on your mask of happiness, and the river will wash the tears clean,
Put on your mask of peace, and the river will sedate the tempest churning in your heart,
Put on your mask of love, and the river will quench the fires of hatred in your soul
The river feels naught, the river speaks naught,
It rolls on a never-ending track, never revealing what should remain veiled from searching eyes,
Let the river carry you, let the river embrace your vagabond spirit and your shattered heart, leave nothing for the world, and leave everything for naught
Then, before I even realized it, a melody came to my lips long forgotten from the cheerless days of my childhood:
“Oh hallowed gate open wide, Oh hollow gates, seek where I abide” I whispered, as tears whetted my cheeks,
“Send the river, send the swell, and lead me into waters deeper than hell
Perhaps one day my soul will emerge from your surface
Regretting to find who was once thought worthless
May indeed be more precious than life herself

But alas, it is too late to skim heaven’s surface
So I say goodbye to the world I once knew
And join the choir of the sirens’ cries,
In waters where no light reaches through
Now close your eyes, close your eyes”
As I finished, I slid my body further over the edge, just another few finger widths and I would lose my grip. But my tears refused to stop. You are a nothing; a nothing with nothing to live for. There was no need to restrain my thoughts. I had done it for too long, a futile attempt it was. Those last few months, in order to plaster a feigned smile on my face; to comfort myself- to push away the harsh truth of my predicament. You were cast aside by your own family. What a plain girl: a face wholly fit for the label of waxscraper. Years of fear will always be etched on your face and liquefied in your tears of self pity.
I began humming the Siren’s song, submitting to each truth of the verses. It had saturated my mind.

“Now close your eyes,” I said. Just be free, give the dead permission to take me.

“ Close your eyes.” I whipped my tears with the back of a hand.

“Now close your eyes, May!” I demanded.

I was strong. At 13, enough of the world had roughed my attitude and continence.

I had nothing- no one to say goodbye to. Second thoughts will not be tolerated.

Heart racing, adrenaline ignited blood pulsed though my tensed ligaments. I shut my eyes- just one more inch, don’t think, and just fall. It is too late for second-thinking-

thwack. Searing pain bolted through my spine, as the back of my body slammed into the iron railing guarding the bridge behind me. My eyes dropped to my waist; what? There was an arm snaked around me. Someone? Who?

I screamed, not caring to turn around and find out this unwanted rescuer’s identity. “No!” I tried peeling away the foreign arm with my hands,

“Leave me be!” I said again, squirming and thrashing, but it did nothing, and the stranger refused to let go, with a hold stronger than two of my tiny frames combined.

Warm breath brushed against my ear through the iron-wrought rails. I pressed my eyes shut. The strangers face was near a hand-width from mine.

“Did you know,” the voice was hardly above a whisper, “If you take your life, you will be committing a serious crime.” The tone of voice was so ambiguous; I could not discern whether its owner was male or female.

What was this person talking about? They had no right to lay their hands on me in such an unorthodox way.
I was doing Cheston Towne a great favor; no longer would they need fret their snooty brains over some alley waif, a girl with the brand. And I would no longer be a burden to my parents. They had never really loved me; I was fathoms away from that reposed, amiable, social kitten of a girl, the belle of Cheston Towne; with a face that made even the fairest of girls turn an uncomely shade of chartreuse. She was a mere fabricated dream, the daughter they longed for but never had. I was a plain, gaunt faced creature, my mousy hair finer than a spider’s thread and a frame as skinny as a willow’s bough. My voluntary isolation from the Council gatherings my mother hosted, and reluctance to socialize with peers only encouraged the length of her daily scolding and lectures to increase.

I did have a few youths I conversed with now and then, and once in a while confided in, though after the brand, none of them cared even to look my way; as if I had never existed. My parents thought they could morph me into a someone, a someone I never could be.
I tried to wriggle my torso free from the stranger’s grasp “I said,” my heart pounded faster than a humming bird’s wings, “leave me be!”

This time, the stranger did not yield, the cold steel dug into my back as the arm pressed tighter around my stomach.

“Stop it!” I cried, “Just stop it!”

The stranger ignored my pleas. “These crimes you now attempt are far greater than anything you may have done -.” The stranger must have seen; my brand.

It still hurt a frightful amount. In my struggle to break free, the thin layer of scar tissue over my wound had torn. Now something warm and wet trickled down the bridge of my nose; blood.

I whipped my head around. Long, black ringlets of hair shaded the stranger’s ebony features - features far too delicate to be a man’s. A she; and this she was not about ready to release me. Flecks of silver glinted behind the curtain of hair concealing her face. I gasped. Could it be that the metallic sparkle came from her eyes?
“There is a someone inside of you, how could you be so selfish as to deny the chance at life for your someone?” I froze.

The songs of the river stilled in my head, as realization leaked through death’s trance over me. I dropped my head, my fingers releasing the stranger’s forearm, and my hands slid down, to my belly and the child inside.

Through bleary eyes I stroked the threadbare linens of my skirt, over the bump in my stomach. Tears stung my eyes and slipped down my face. “Why?” I whispered.

My voice grew louder, “Why?” I screamed.

I had forgotten in these moments that were to be my last, the something growing inside of me. My breaths came out in tense heaves, as the tears stained my patched blouse. I felt the stranger release me, but did she not move from her couched position.

“Hush now, girl” She hissed, and clamped her hand around my arm.

I had no desire to leave the ledge, not now; too many thoughts crammed themselves in my head.

“Now is not the time for guilt laden tears.” She said. Her voice was firm. “You must get up, and get a safe distance away from the waters.”

I didn’t listen; I didn’t want to. I hated myself. I hated the way others regarded me. I hated how I could not go through with my own death, not with the realization of the child inside of me. But I did not want to get up, not now. If somehow, my body could be spirited away to a place where time did not have power, where one could sit and sit, and forget about everything- I shook my head, as if that would be enough for the stranger to leave.

“No, you will come.” By now I could tell she had gotten to her feet, for she clenched both of her hands around my right arm and pulled.

“You must get up.” She tugged, but I made no effort to move. The dank wooden planks beneath us creaked. “You must live! You are too young for such absurd impulses! If not for yourself, live for your child!” I clenched my fists, and dug my teeth into the side of my lip; then slowly with trembling legs, and voluntary assistance from the stranger holding my arm, I stood up.
Why am I giving in? Why am I doing this? I already knew the answer, but my pride, the pride that had made Mother cringe with repugnance, would not allow my heart into my mind, at least not yet.
I dipped my dead with defeat, as my rescuer helped over the railing and onto the solid walkway of the bridge. I stood next to her, my legs shaking; I wrapped my arms round my belly and stared blankly at my bare feet.

“Brynn,” She said curtly, “They call me Brynn.”
Shocked out of own world of misery, I lifted my eyes from the ground, and studied her for the first time. She was beautiful; smooth skin a deep, rich chocolate, like an exotic princess hailing from a province leagues from our own-a face that didn’t belong next to mine- and tall- near a head taller than I, it could not be hidden, even under the scarlet cloak she wore. The way she held herself- chin lofty and proud; I knew she must be someone of rank, though what kind of rank I could not guess. I forgot my troubles and fears for the briefest of moments, suddenly feeling shy and…envious in the presence of this young aristocrat.

She swiped some of her stray curls from her eyes, “I see you have the Brand, and it happened less than a fortnight past, judging by the scar.”

She drew closer to me and ran her fingers over it. When she removed her hand, blood glistened on her long fingertips; my blood. I had forgotten the tear in the wound, and the blood. The bleeding had not stopped, and my nose and mouth felt warm and sticky. The sour taste of metal and salt lingered on my tongue.

“This doesn’t look good. It looks infected.” Brynn whipped her hand on her cloak and turned around, “Come,” she motioned me to follow her, “We must have your scar looked over by a physician. It could prove fatal if left untreated.”

The memory of the branding was as ripe in mind as if it had happened the only an evening before this; fresh like my brand, painful and merciless; cruel.

Brynn had made her way to the other side of the bridge, when she looked back, I stared dumbfounded, and watched as my blood dripped off of my face and spattered on the ground. Could my wounds ever be healed?

“Don’t just stand there, girl!” Brynn waived her hand, “Hurry along! The light is fleeting.” I directed my eyes to Brynn, but her figure blurred as tears flooded my eyes. I could not move, anchored by my own tears. I wept, hiding my bloody face in my hands. It was too much; all these months I had swallowed up my tears; holding back the pain, trying in vain, to forget that dreadful night, on the eve of my birthday, when a man so brutally stripped me of my childhood, my innocence. And in the days that followed, I had locked myself in my room, ill and scared and unclean. That monster had stolen something from me, and I could never have it back, never. A fortnight had passed, and I had managed keeping my mouth closed, no one knew, I was too frightened to utter a word to anyone. Then, Mother saw, she detected it before I did: I was with-child. My situation had only declined after that, and before long, I was thrown into the streets with the rats and beggars, my skin bubbling and burning, freshly singed with the brand of Penance.

I hoped that Brynn had not left me, though she seemed cool hearted and unsympathetic, I didn’t want to be alone. She must have turned around for I heard a sigh escape her, then the clack of her boots on the bridge.

“Silly girl, don’t cry so.” She had smoothed out any lingering roughness in her voice. “Things work out in their own time.” She rested her arm around my hunched shoulders. “It’s not hard to see that life has treated you poorly.”

“It hurts,” I whimpered through my hands, “My heart, it hurts.”

Brynn stayed silent for a short while, her arm steadying me as I sobbed. Then, I felt her arm slip from my shoulders. I looked up, and she had drawn the hood of her cloak over her head. She pressed her brows together, her face as stoic as a statue’s.

“We must go now. That wound will only get worse if you doddle and mope. I speak the truth.” I nodded and dabbed my eyes with the sleeve of my grubby blouse.
“But,” I hesitated, glancing around in the oncoming dusk, “The overseers will be searching for me-from the factory I've been fulfilling my Penance in.”

Now that my original plans had back-fired on me, I had to return to the factory, there was no way of escaping it; back to the blistering, tedious work in the wax-melting rooms.

[EtherealAria]

Anyone want to give some feedback? I could really use some tips on how I could improve my work Thank you!

[Claiborne]

I thought this was wonderful! The writing style is beautiful, and I think you really created an interesting, fleshed-out world. The dialogue and song reflect the time period and I felt immersed in the world you created [: I felt very much connected to this young girl and her tragic story.
I can't think of a critique right now; I read this earlier today and just now was able to post, but I'm pretty sure I'll read through again and be a bit more helpful d:

[EtherealAria]

You really think so? Thank you very much! To be honest, I wasn't expecting such a positive response Anyway, I'm delighted you found it interesting. Its definitely a story I want to continue. And you can critique it if you want, but no pressure

[Claiborne]

Originally Posted by EtherealAria

Every other bridge post held sconces, with candles aflame, of citrus and of spearmint, evoking zeal and cheeriness. This sounded kind of awkward to me. Like you were trying to put too much information in one sentence. "Every other bridge post held sconces with candles aflame. They smelled of citrus and peppermint, and evoked a feeling of zeal and cheeriness," maybe? But it did nothing to sway me from my foremost directive. I had made sure this bridge was little used, and right now, there was no one in eyesight.

There I sat, my legs dangling over the edge of the bridge, and my head declined toward the roaring Andarous below; far, far below. Its rapids spewed mist high into the air, reaching my toes and sprinkling water particles in my face. Nothing-no one could stop me now; this was it.
Oh, how the mighty river called, pulling my soul towards the heavy darkness lurking under its surface. I remembered one moment in my life, a time where my family truly held me in contentment and regard. But that time had, as fleeting as a rain swell, receded away, out of my clutches. Beautiful description and choice of words.

There was nothing left for me. The songs of the dead, admonishment from the deep river, a siren’s call; and her plead. A breeze lifted from the east, and causing far more spray from the rapids than usual, soaking my hair and irritating my eyes. The verb tense through me off here; I would change it to "A breeze lifted from the east and caused far more spray from the rapids than usual, soaking my hair and irritating my eyes."
I had heard tales, of young girls like I, to whom the river had claimed. They too had the brand of Penance, and when hope had deserted them, they took their lives. Some said they had lost their senses, caught delirium, I think a semi-colon would fit here rather than a comma. the fumes from candle-making had induced it. But I thought otherwise, these girls were sane. Though, their stories were lost in the threads of history; just like my own would be.

This was the only portion I really saw any grammatical errors or where I thought wording sounded awkward.
I couldn't find any kind of plot- or character-related critique. I want to know more about Brynn and May, and the idea of an entire culture centered around wax and candle-melting really intrigues me [:
You've done an amazing job, and I think it's odd that no one else has commented.

[kersee9]

Originally Posted by EtherealAria

“Oh hallowed gate open wide, Oh hollow gates, seek where I abide” I whispered, as tears whetted my cheeks,Here you should break the italics.
“Send the river, send the swell, and lead me into waters deeper

I hoped that Brynn had not left me, though she seemed cool hearted and unsympathetic, are you missing a word here? didn’t want to be alone. She must have turned around for I heard a sigh escape her, then the clack of her boots on the bridge.

“Silly girl, don’t cry so.” She had smoothed out any lingering roughness in her voice. “Things work out in their own time.” She rested her arm around my hunched shoulders. “It’s not hard to see that life has treated and here? poorly.”

I honestly think you have a solid foundation to build this story with here. Subjectively, it is interesting and appealing to its intended audience so I don't see any problems there. I can see that you are inexperienced though. Your punctuation/sentence structure needs work. I suggest browsing through a few style guides and finding two or three for purchase that suit both your tastes and personal needs--after all, you are the one who knows your weak points best. In this way you can use all of the style guides and hone it down to the one that fits you best and reference it for all things writing until you learn the way to do things best for yourself and the manner you want to use your voice. If you are in college, be careful that such activity does not interfere with your required guides and their usage.

I think you are very talented and look forward to reading more of your work.

[EtherealAria]

Originally Posted by Claiborne

This was the only portion I really saw any grammatical errors or where I thought wording sounded awkward.
I couldn't find any kind of plot- or character-related critique. I want to know more about Brynn and May, and the idea of an entire culture centered around wax and candle-melting really intrigues me [:
You've done an amazing job, and I think it's odd that no one else has commented.

Thank you! I fixed the errors that you and the other user pointed out. I'm looking forward to writing more, as the ideas come to me.

[EtherealAria]

Originally Posted by kersee9

I honestly think you have a solid foundation to build this story with here. Subjectively, it is interesting and appealing to its intended audience so I don't see any problems there. I can see that you are inexperienced though. Your punctuation/sentence structure needs work. I suggest browsing through a few style guides and finding two or three for purchase that suit both your tastes and personal needs--after all, you are the one who knows your weak points best. In this way you can use all of the style guides and hone it down to the one that fits you best and reference it for all things writing until you learn the way to do things best for yourself and the manner you want to use your voice. If you are in college, be careful that such activity does not interfere with your required guides and their usage.

I think you are very talented and look forward to reading more of your work.

I appreciate your feedback! You are right, I don't have a lot of experience. Maybe it's a result of being a homeschooled child and for years, I dreaded when I had to write more than a few sentences at a time. Those grammar mistakes you pointed out were not intended. It was a result of not looking over my work to realize the missing words

[kersee9]

I think you are doing a fine job. Inexperience isn't a bad thing, we all have to keep learning--always.