Hello fellow blog hoppers. I’m having a great time reading your intros and guessing the age. Can you guess my protag’s age in the first 250 words of my WIP? Any suggestions or recommendations on my intro? Let me have it! Let me know if you follow me and I’ll follow you back.
The voodoo priestess tossed entrails into the fire. My throat tightened at the stench, and sweat trickled in hidden places beneath my damp, cotton dress in the suffocating heat.
Mosquitoes buzzed. A night heron babbled in the brush. I twisted the sash on my dress into a knot.
The sun would set soon, and the walk home was far—down the mountain and through the pulsing jungle. Maman would worry. Serpents slid from their dark holes when the heat of the day faded, seeking victims for their poisons. I had witnessed men convulse, their lips frothing, blue-black swelling rising beneath their skin.
Yes, nightfall was deadly, but I could not move. My fate shimmered in the acrid smoke rising from the fire pit.
The old woman chanted, her lips moving in a silent rhythm as she rocked to a sound only she detected. Silver hair sprang from her head in unruly waves and her bent frame was wrapped in colorful cloth. Layers of wooden beads encircled her neck and a fetish of the Ibo god dangled. The slaves bartered for her potions, despite their fear of this small, but commanding woman. I swallowed my apprehension; purpose burned in my chest.
Cousin Aimée poked her finger in my side. She resembled a skittish newt hiding between stones near the riverbed. I glared at her and steadied myself on the uneven stump. I would not be swayed by her urgency to escape.
As suddenly as she began chanting, the priestess stopped.
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