/ / /

I'm not sure I like the prologue...I might take it out with the next draft, but it keeps the word count going, so why not? I kind of liked the idea of encapsulating the novel at first by encasing it in an interview, sort of like Interview with the Vampire, but then again, maybe not. It's very contrived, and I think I was exercising or warming-up my characters for the real run.

Here it is:

Many people know Anibel Mayleve. Daughter of Drew Mayleve and conqueror of the conflict two years ago, Anibel Mayleve is a figure that not many have forgotten. But the true story has yet to be heard, the story right out of Anibel Mayleve’s mouth, the story that will set all rumors and speculation to an end. Anibel Mayleve has kindly agreed to sit down and recall the events of the last two years.

We are sitting in a dark room, closed to the sunlight outside and open to the dust that gathered over the years. By the looks of things, every surface has a thick layer of dust that is not so much dust anymore as it is a layer of grease and dirt. I can make out her fain outlines against the oily curtains, but Anibel Mayleve is still there, crouched in her seat, barely avoiding my eyes. She is a crumpled figure, yet still young – a wonder since her face is contorted in such a way that her eyes are barely visible behind the crinkled folds of her brow, her mouth agape in a silent choke. I wonder what emotion must be going through her once-beautiful face. It seems at one point she was attractive, with a heart-shaped face and wavy brown hair to frame cold blue eyes. Now her skin is filled with wrinkles, like her features are stuck in an eternal laugh, or more likely an eternal grief. A lot has happened to certify the transformation of Anibel Mayleve. Perhaps this interview can set things straight and help clear the public’s perspective on this prominent character.

“Are you comfortable, Miss Mayleve?”

She pauses as she takes a shaky breath. A cough rankles her frame and she doubles over, a piping whimpering emerging from the folds of her cloak. She withdraws after a while and steadies her breath. “Yes. Quite comfortable.”

I position the tape recorder on the arm of my chair. Balanced on my knee is my notebook, a pen tucked between the pages ready to be filled.

“If you feel we are ready to begin, then we may start. But if at any time you need to stop, feel free to do so and tell me so I can stop my recorder. Are we ready?”

She nods.

I watch her carefully for any signs that might hint at her unwillingness, but the darkness obscures most of the detail, so I can only bet on her word. I open up my notebook to the page held by the pen, and I fold the cover over. I scan the page and look up. “Now everyone knows of your confrontation with the dragon, but not many people know that you knew the dragon personally. Could you tell the readers out there about your connection with the dragon and what made you choose to go against him?”

Anibel Mayleve, who had started to shake, stills, and I hear an intake of breath. It wasn’t like she was surprised, or like she was gathering her nerves, but more like she was on the edge of a chasm, and it was the breath you take before you plunged into the water and the blackness.

“But I can’t start from there; I have to start way further than that. Knowing the dragon is just a little part of my story.” She shifts in her seat, just a little, but now she is upright and I can see her face. I am startled to see she still retains her youthful beauty, as the wrinkles have softened on her face now that she is calm. The shadows still play with her nose, making it appear much longer than it should.

“Where, then, should we begin?” I ask.

Anibel Mayleve shifts forward in her seat and leans in. “Why, two years and six months ago, I believe. It’s quite a long story, but I’m afraid if you want to hear the whole of it, then there’s no getting around it.”

Her face is almost beautiful in this sub-darkness. But then she withdraws sharply and her face is masked in wrinkles once again. She is shaking.

I am so absorbed I almost forget the tape recorder sitting next to me. I raise it to my lips and press a button.

“This is the first of November, third year. Subject: Anibel Mayleve on her encounter with –” I see her stir in the shadows – “her story of the encounter.”