Fate Weaves. Legend Binds.
- Katharine E Wibell
- 3 days ago
- 10 min read
1) Hi there! Let’s start with the basics. What is your author name (pen name if you have one)?
Leslie Anne Lee
2) What genre(s) do you write?
Epic Dark Fantasy
3) What is your book’s pitch?
Fate weaves their paths; legend binds their names.
4) Can you tell me a little more about your book?
Child of Dawn
Legends of the Vale Book 1
Her anger enveloped her, Witch, So that was what she was to them.
Dagsbrún knew he was a monster... He had been called that since birth. And yet, as he raged against his immortality, he dared to dream of finding peace.
Enter the world of the Vale, ruled by elves and vampires. A world destined for destruction unless a prophecy can be fulfilled, and two individuals who are entirely opposite can find something in common.
Silken Waters
Legends of the Vale Book 2
"War is hard. Sometimes, peace is even harder."
Silken Waters transports readers back to the Vale, a realm governed by magic and ruled by the ancient and powerful races of elves and vampires. These two races have been at odds for thousands of years, forbidden to associate, much less fall in love.
In the sequel to Child of Dawn, Rennault, the leader of the bradach a faction Of vampire pirates- must face the changes brought by the newfound peace in the Vale. When his and other bradach's way of life is threatened, he seeks to save his right to rule the waters, little does he know that this endeavor will take him on an adventure that will change not only his life but also the lives of everyone living in the Vale. He will be challenged in love, brotherhood, and choosing between what is right and what is easy.
5) You wanted to share your prologue. You can do that now.
Prologue
People would speak of that night as one filled rampant with magic. The realms of the spirits lowered their veils and revealed all manner of mystery in the dark shadows of twilight. In the darkness, the dogs howled at the bright, gilded orb of the moon and serenaded the spirits that left their homes to walk among mortals. Perhaps it was the moon that drew them out, perhaps it was their restless nature to wander… or perhaps they fled the tumult that raged behind the shroud draped over those lands we cannot see.
Draped in secrecy, the immortal world was boiling and surging with whispers. Whispers that the unthinkable had happened. A creature of light had given themselves to a creature of the night. What else could have caused the storms, the raging thunder? What else could account for trees to leave their roots or the rivers to rise and clash with the mountains? It was unthinkable, forbidden, blasphemy, but it was the only explanation. And so, lips moved, and tongues wagged from pointed ears to curved horns like the lightning that flashed across the sky. It coursed through the very fabric of the landscape, threatening to rip apart the very fiber of the immortal world.
The Elders chased the whispers through the night to a cave buried deep in the dark forest. They felt the ground beneath them writhe with confusion and fear as they dug their gnarled and aged staffs into the soft earth. They came from the Shadowlands and the Lakelands; they came in shimmery robes and blackened capes. The thought that two of their own had defied their ancient rules had united them and thrust them together in a frenzied state.
They crashed like beasts through the tangled wood until they came upon the cave. The air was alive with electricity, stretched and strained with uncertainty. They stopped, ceasing their commotion so that the only sound was the sigh of the wind as it consoled the leaves in the weeping trees. One elder moved into a sliver of moonlight that fell over the mouth of the cave. He was old and wizened, well past his days of glory and well into his time of twilight. Others moved to join him, but he raised his hand, and they stopped.
The elder slipped his head under the rocky archway and into the inky darkness of the cave. Shadows mixed with moonlight and played tricks on his weary eyes. He strained his ears to hear even the faintest sound, secretly hoping that he would not. But his hopes were in vain, and he shut his eyes in despair as a muffled cry echoed against the stony walls. He threw his staff hard against the ground, and its tip erupted into a flaming torch. Shadows leaped back into the crevices as light flowed up to the topmost part of the cave. The only shadow that remained unfolded itself against the luminous rays of light and stretched its limbs out in search of a place to hide. The elder followed its path up into the rocky crags and then lowered his eyes back to the ground.
“It’s no use,” he called to the shadow. “We know your secret.”
The shadow seemed to dip back into the earth, only to spring up once more in the shape of a man. An immense figure of stony white skin, rough and hewn like the rocks he walked among. His chiseled form was draped in a robe of deep purple, and the folds rolled over the ground and melted into its shape. He pulled himself up to his full height and stared at the elder with steely blue eyes.
“You have no business here, old man,” he hissed.
“You made it my business!” the elder yelled back. “You broke every law this world has ever known.”
Before the elder could blink, he found himself pinned against the cold, hard wall of the cave. An iron grip was pressing the life from his throat. He looked down into the blazing eyes of his opponent, grasping at the gnarled hands that trapped him. The shadow that had melded into a man now looked more like a beast in the torchlight. His ears were curved to a delicate point, and his front teeth sharpened to crystal tips. The elder heard scratching on either side of him and turned to see a claw, glistening black like the granite stone, scraping along the surface of the stone towards his face. The elder could see that the claw was connected to the tip of a wing, a wing that had billowed forth from the creature's back. Turning his head, he could see that the wing had a match, and those wings now enveloped him in their dark, inky beauty.
“Your magic has no power here, old man,” the creature snarled. “We do not listen to your legalistic preaching.”
The elder felt himself drifting off into the darkness. His hands fell away from the creature’s grip on his throat. “Where is she?” he gasped. “Where is Ljosalfar?”
Before the creature could respond, a voice answered for him. “I am here.”
Both the elder and the creature turned and watched as the figure of a woman moved from behind a tall boulder. She seemed to float across the earth as she drifted toward them. She reached out and touched the arm of the creature. Without argument, the creature released his grip on the elder and let him drop to the ground.
The elder gasped for breath and pushed himself up with the help of his staff. “You are marked,” he whispered hoarsely. “Even now, elders from both your worlds are gathered outside. There is no escape.”
The creature reached out with a wing and enveloped the woman, pulling her close. “We will not leave. We are bonded. We have handfasted.”
The elder's face grew pale. “And who oversaw this union? Who else has played a part in this witchcraft?
“No one,” the woman replied. “No one would have us.”
Voices could be heard outside and the elder knew he was losing time. He reached out to the woman. “Ljosalfar, please.” She pulled away from his reach. “You are Faye, you are my blood. Do not remain with this beast.” His eyes filled with tears. “It will be your destruction.”
The creature pulled his wing tighter around Ljosalfar. “Then she will die in my arms.”
The elder saw uncertainty creep into the green pools of her eyes. “Granddaughter, I beg you. If the elders enter this cave, I will be unable to protect you, or him.”
Ljosalfar’s eyes misted and brimmed with tears. She looked up at her mate and then back at the elder. Slowly she pulled the folds of her cloak away from her body and lifted a small bundle off her shoulder. She handed it to the elder. “And what of the child? What will become of him?”
The elder felt his heart leap and then plummet as he took the small bundle. He lifted the gauzy wrap away from a face that was formed into perfection. The child was a mere infant, no more than a few days old. Its eyelashes, dark like a raven’s wing, were draped over sleeping eyes. Though a newborn, the child had thick, curly locks that cascaded in loose curls over pointy ears. Its skin was a grayish white, like a slab of marble newly cut from the earth.
He felt his soul shattered as he clutched the infant. “Ljosalfar,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
“He is ours,” the creature replied. “A union of two worlds. Proof that love exists beyond the confines you have given it.”
“Take him,” Ljosalfar pushed the infant against the elder’s chest. “Hide him, please.”
Voices echoed at the entrance to the cave, and the creature pulled Ljosalfar against him. “Do as she says, old man. For the sake of your granddaughter and great-grandchild, do this one thing you know to be right.” He lowered one wing and pushed the elder with his other toward the back of the cave. “There is a small opening. Take the child, hide him, and give him the possibility of a life we were never offered.”
The cave grew brighter with the light of the approaching torches. Ljosalfar pushed the elder toward the back of the cave. “Go!” she screamed. “Go!”
The elder stumbled back as the creature grabbed Ljosalfar and enveloped her in his wings. They turned toward the mob, now filling the room with their torches. The elder ducked behind a stone. He held the child close and peered around the corner of his hiding place.
“Where is Drotinn?” an elf yelled, flailing his torch in the face of the creature.
A darkly robbed figure approached from the rear, and the throng parted. He removed his hood, and the elder saw that he looked much like the father of the child he now held in his arms. Standing only a few inches from the creature. He gripped one of his wings in his hands and snapped it in half. The creature howled in pain but held Ljosalfar all the more tightly with his other wing.
“The elf asked you a question,” the figure hissed. “Where is the elder?”
“Gone,” the creature growled. “Gone. And with our child.”
The figure let out an unearthly scream. “Traitor! Blasphemer! You have broken all our laws! You have upset the balance of our world!” He drew a long, metal stake from the folds of his cloak. “And for that, you and your harlot will pay.” Without uttering another breath, he took the stake and drove through Ljosalfar into the heart of the creature.
The elder covered his mouth to muffle his cries of anguish. He turned and felt his way through the darkness until his hand felt the night air pull him out into the anguished night. Stumbling blindly, he uttered an incantation to shut the cave walls and give him a chance to escape. His life was forever changed. He would be a hunted thing, sought after like a hunted animal. But, as he fled into the night, he knew that his life was bearable compared to the agony of the child’s parents.
Inside the cave, the mob had grown silent, almost out of some inexplicable reverence for the fate of the two lovers. The creature had fallen back to the earth, lit from the inside with a fire that was slowly burning him to death. He held Ljosalfar in his arms, and she too began to glimmer with a hot white light.
“It burns,” she cried out, clawing at the creature’s arms.
He grabbed her hand and held it against his burning chest. “Shh, my love. It will be over soon.”
Ljosalfar writhed against her agony. “I love you, Raefn,” she whispered. Her body grew bright and erupted in a fountain of light and heat. Its flame leaped upward and then faded into an ethereal glow. Remnants of light drifted down and fell upon the creature’s face, dissipating into steam as they fell upon his tears.
The creature threw his head back and roared. He reached up, grasping at the pieces of light falling back down to the earth. His body grew brighter from the flame burning him alive. He looked at the mob, many of whom now second-guessed their decision, and then raised his good wing to its full height and slammed it down to the earth. Its power threw the mob backward, knocking them to the ground. He grasped the last remnant of light, held it to his heart, and erupted into an inferno of flame and ash.
6) That is wonderful! Now can you tell me a little bit about yourself?
Leslie Anne Lee has been writing since she was six years old, crafting tales on newsprint paper with crayons before graduating to pen and journal. Her passion for writing was evident from a young age, winning recognition in school for her short stories and poetry. By high school, Leslie had published her first novel, and as a college freshman, her poetry garnered recognition from her state senator.
Leslie’s writing journey has been marked by determination and resilience. Even as a new mother, she penned her second book while bedridden with a fever. Her dedication to the craft has resulted in the publication of six books across various genres, and her poetry has been featured in several anthologies.
Leslie credits her success to the encouragement and inspiration she received from her high school English and Drama teacher, Greg Stobbe, as well as the unwavering support of her family and friends. Her mother, who instilled in her a love of reading; her children, whom she wants to inspire and teach that anything is possible; and her friends, who have inspired, pushed, and motivated her to believe that she can and will be a successful author. When she’s not writing, Leslie enjoys contributing to local film non-profits, participating in red carpet premieres, and nurturing her creative spirit through gardening, dancing, and helping her children make movies.
7) Do you have a website? If so, what is it?
8) Where else can we find and follow you?
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lepie21
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