Harperpages

The blog of author Harper Alexander

A Mansion Full of Water

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Breathtaker image 1

I haven’t posted in awhile, so today I wanted to drop in and leave an excerpt from what I’m writing today! (Yes, I’m writing today – ACTUALLY WRITING! Thank goodness for three-day-weekends, or else this wouldn’t be happening.

I really like what I’m working on today. It’s from Deep Breather, the third book in the Breathtaker saga, and I just love when we get into the mystical ocean stuff. Dive in!

~~~~~~

 Breya fell into a fitful sleep that night, tossing and turning as she dreamed that the mansion was slowly filling with water. It filled the downstairs and crept up the staircase, rushing down the landing and slipping under her door.

From there it was a slow rising, the water level lapping around her bed until at last it overcame her.

It was then that the tossing and turning finally stopped, and an absolute calm came over her. She drifted aloft, her restlessness doused by the tranquility.

It was always this way, these days – the best sleep she had was when the water came. She couldn’t relax unless she was drifting on those soft currents, the weight of the world gone.

The weight of the world, and of her cumbersome, restricted, struggling mortal body.

She would be better off with that body washing up on the shore of her dreams, cast off like an old shell, to be adopted by the crabs that haunted the nooks and crannies of her nightmares.

But for a time she didn’t have to think of it. She listened instead to the calls of the wales arcing through her window, the ever-present, haunting bells of the ocean.

She listened to the rush of bubbles as something entered through her window, and might have opened her eyes to see what if her enchanted slumber had not been too heavenly to abandon. Instead, she let the shadow the the thing pass over her canopy, followed by a second rush of bubbles and second shadow.

A distant voice, muffled in the recesses of her human self, screamed shark.

But the shadows didn’t circle or dart about like the vicious predator that had hunted her through so many other nightmares, and there was nothing in Breya’s creature instinct that warned her to open her eyes. Instead she watched the shadows from behind her lids, as they twisted and danced with haunting grace, playing about the canopy.

When long, slippery fingers reached through the curtain and closed gently about her wrist, all notions that she shared the room with sharks vanished.

There came a whisper in her ear, something incoherent with bubbly murk, and from the other side of the room there came a chiming, bubbly laughter as Breya was pulled by the wrist from her bed.

Her other wrist was seized same as the first, and with a slither of mischief she was pulled through the window and out into the ocean.

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