Hey lovelies! THE FATEFUL MOMENT IS HERE! I'd ramble on about various writing-related things but I think you guys really just want me to shut up and get to the point, so... without further ado, here it is! The cover for Frozen Hearts (not to mention the synopsis and a short excerpt):
“Rose, don’t try to tell me what’s real or not real. I live and breathe impossibilities.”
Rosalyn Lawrence is not the type of girl who strays from the norm, who goes on whirlwind adventures or travels across the world and beyond or fights fire-breathing dragons to the death. Fairytales exist only in black ink on white paper, and Rosalyn is happy for the story to disappear when she closes the book.
But then one windy night her beloved little brother Benjamin disappears, and suddenly the stories Rosalyn has always taken refuge in are flooding into real life. A boy with a wand climbs through her window and she learns that the grieving queen of a shockingly desolate enchanted land has abducted Benjamin. If she chooses to be sucked into the magic of this land, its power – and the power of an enemy she isn’t quite sure even exists – could destroy her.
As Rosalyn edges further and further into a world of frozen fantasy, fairytales intertwine with reality and secrets dance on shadows’ edges. A queen lingers, locked in an ice palace of her own making. A boy hides shards of pain under a perfectly woven smile. A dark figure stains the horizon, constantly shifting his puppet strings. Love bleeds into fear, hope into death, and suddenly the lines between them aren’t so clear anymore.
If Rosalyn will succeed in bringing Benjamin home, she must learn how to trust in her stories, find a magic within herself, and perhaps write her own happy ending.
Rosalyn woke in the middle of the night.
Her head was clouded, cobwebs of sleep still lingering, a fog drifting over her senses. The surface she was lying on was soft. As she sat up she saw a figure, not quite near enough to touch, motionless on the floor. She couldn’t seem to recall his name.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she realised that his shirt was off and his back was to her, bare in the soft moonlight. She looked out the window. The stars seemed to glisten, impossibly dense confetti scattered over the blanket of night. The moon hung suspended as if from a child’s mobile.
She stood, moving closer to the figure on the floor. The rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible. His face was still just out of her line of sight, his name still just out of the grasp of her slumber-clouded memory.
In the moonlight she caught a glimpse of something on his back. Her fingers glided down to it and she traced it, feather light, afraid for reasons she could not fathom of waking him. The scar joined another and another, until all at once she realised that she was connecting a veritable constellation of pain across the canvas of his back.
She gazed down at them. They were old, she could tell, but they still looked painful. The skin was gnarled, as if some heavenly hand had reached down, ripped it off of his back, and then bunched it up and pasted it haphazardly back on – and she knew she should be horrified at the sight, knew she should be pitying him or turning away in revulsion, yet she could not bring herself to. All she felt was the inherent need to know: how had he gotten them? Did they still hurt?
Was Chase all right?
And there was his name, pulled from the graveyard of her memory: Chase. A boy with a crooked smile and a secret she’d never been meant to discover.
Somewhere in the back of her mind a deep voice with a cold accent surfaced, murmuring something about his father. What had he told her? She struggled to remember, and finally it hit her. “Let’s just say he wasn’t the best role model,” the voice had said.
The gashes were long healed, yet so deep, so thick and ragged that she almost didn’t want to think about who might have put them there – his father? she wondered, and then wished the thought had never crossed her mind.
She couldn’t bear to look at them for a moment longer. Turning away from his pockmarked body, she glanced up at the stars once more before climbing back into the small cot and letting sleep overtake her – an uneasy sleep, riddled with nightmares of long, thin sticks of ice, dark men and evil laughter, unbearable pain lacing through her back. This time the stars did not look like confetti, but teardrops.
In the morning, she would have no memory of her nighttime awakening.
And the boy lying across from her would never tell her that his eyes had been open the whole time.
Many, many thanks to these beautiful bloggers who helped me in writing their own posts to share the cover -
Daniel @ Willy Nilly To & Fro Little Onion @ Little Onion Writes Emily @ The Loony Teen Writer Mishka @ A Writer's Life for Me Skye @ Skye Hegyes Emily @ For the Bookish Jen @ S.J. Henderson Writes Sherry @ Writer's Ally Leandra @ Leandra Wallace Jill @ Bitches 'n Prose Jennifer @ Donnie Darko Girl Kim @ YA Asylum
These people are beyond amazing and I'm so incredibly grateful that they've taken the time out of their evenings to talk about Frozen Hearts. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I might add that they all run absolutely phenomenal blogs (never mind that the last one is also my own, because I'm definitely not biased at all ;)) and you should definitely check out not only their FH post, but ALLLLL OF THEM. Trust me - you won't regret it.
As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on the cover! See? I told you it would be mind-blowingly amazing, didn't I? (That's Kim's fault, by the way, for being too talented of a graphic designer.)
And of course, I can't say it enough times - thank you all for your support with FH and for making me feel so loved. You guys are superheroes. xxx