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About the author:
What inspired you to write your book?
Movies in the style of Miyazaki. I love slice of life, small town feel kind of stories!
Here is a short sample from the book:
The burst of heat on my face was surprising. I’d exploded out of the hall and into a wide room lush with greenery.
Falling to my knees, I hung my head under my curtain of hair. It’d come loose in my escape, dark strands tickling my cheeks. Through confused eyes that ached from sweat and strain, I looked up. To my amazement, I saw a giant emerald dome arching above.
‘I’m in a greenhouse.’
How had I stumbled upon such a beautiful place? It WAS beautiful, though the more I looked, the overgrowth and wildness became clear. It was a garden run amok, untended for what felt to be years.
I didn’t stand yet, but I sat up enough to gaze around easier. I could see roses, crawling vines, and the ground under me was grass thick as cotton candy. In the middle, I spotted a tiny bridge of faded red. It crossed a long stream clogged with moss.
That was where I spotted him.
Still as a statue, his skin glistened, ashen marble in the green light. Broad shoulders that displayed their strength, a curving spine digging through rows of muscle.
He was bare from the waist up, perched on the end of the bridge furthest from me and facing away. On his shoulder blades, I spotted what had to be the most elaborate winged tattoos ever.
Dark as coal, they reminded me of a bat’s. They went all the way down to his lower back, partially brushing his ribs, and certainly brushing my blood enough to make it flare.
Grault, as still as ever, but more exposed than I would have imagined on my own. I didn’t need to see his face to know it was him. That flesh, his hair, I was sure.
But what was he doing?
He must have sensed me, maybe my breathing was audible in my rush of confusing emotions. From panicked to dazzled, thinking was a chore.
Turning his head fast enough I worried about whiplash, Grault stared at me with disbelief. “Miss Blooms? What are you doing here?”