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A story that doesn't have a name yet
by: Johnna Crider (me)

Okay here is the prologue and the first chapter. it's rough draft and feel free to leave any opinions.

9600 BC

The woman stared at the full moon, large over the endless ocean and casting pale translucent light over the waves crashing against the rocky shoreline. She stood in the surf as the waves caressed her tiny feet. Her hair, long golden locks streaked with violet danced in the salted breeze. She leans on her staff; a blood red ring sparkles on her right hand.
“It’s almost time,” she whispers aloud. Poseidon would tolerate Lord Doman’s greed no more. As if in confirmation of her thoughts, he rose from the waves; white hair flowing and ice blue eyes alive with a fiery wrath. Poseidon’s gaze locked with her pale violet gaze and she bowed on her knees with the waves washing over her whole body.
“Rise, Lenehh Keltin,” a feminine voice echoed across the air and sweetening the tension that was building in the atmosphere. Lenehh obeyed and was not startled to see Kyetsen, the Goddess of the mages, war, and refuge beside Poseidon. Kyetsen rare took a human form. Instead she was a huge white panther with violet eyes like Lenehh’s. In fact, the eyes and hair are a signature of the High Mages of Atlantis.
“Lady and Lord, I have tried to explain to King Doman, but he would have me outlawed. He is lost in his own greed. I come to you, tonight to beg you to spare one of his heirs and my daughter, Aislinn. I have both of the mage-rings in my possession,”
“You do not have to beg, Lenehh, for you have been obedient. Poseidon will spare your family and one of the heirs; however, the heir will be brought to Crete and become a priest. He will start a new line as will your daughter. The treasures of Atlantis are back in our possession since your king has misused them. It is time for a new year, and a new aeon to come forth. This age will decease after tomorrow night. Bring your family and the heir Mordecai to this spot at moonrise tomorrow eve,”
“Yes, my lady,”
“Go, my obedient child and rest well,”
Kyetsen walked on the waves and nudged Lenehh as if in admiration.

The next eve, Lenehh, her young daughter Aislinn, and Mordecai, the heir barely in adulthood, waited at the shore bowed on their knees. Mordecai had his hair trimmed and was clean shaven. His blue eyes were averted to the sandy beach under his knees. The waves lapped at them, drenching them in warm water. Lenehh studied her ring and the ring she took from the king. There was three numbers on the band—a symbol of the chosen one: 111. The numbers showed up in gold after a mage or a king has bonded with their ring and the god who chose them. Lenehh’s was Kyetsen and the king’s was Poseidon. The other ring was pale violet. Mordecai’s ring may never be bonded in the next few millennia.
“The Order of Olympus is a vital enemy. If they know you survived, you may die or become enslaved. In time, they will have valuable records but not the glory or power that was once Atlantis,” Poseidon spoke with the voice of thunder as he rose from the depths. With an icy breath, he froze the waters and Kyetsen, coming from the very air, guided the three to a ship. Lenehh gingerly stepped onto the ice with the children holding hands on either side of her. As they boarded the ship, Kyetsen spoke in a voice of liquid gold:
“Take one last look for this will be the last time you will see your beloved Atlantis,”
Lenehh gazed at the island. The moon was overhead and cast a brilliant light over the large mountain that rose to touch the stars. The inky black sky was clear, as if saying goodbye to the sleeping island. The warm breeze carried the scents of exotic fruits and flower known only to Atlantis. Lenehh did well to capture a few seeds to plant in her new home. She inhaled deeply of the sweet perfumes of the flowers and held her breath. The released it as the ship started to move.
Poseidon stepped onto the ice. With a breath, it was a living ocean and he nodded as he opened his mouth. Gales guided the small ship into the direction of Crete. Lenehh did not see the mountain explode, sending fire to slash the moon nor did she see Poseidon standing on the shore with his arms stretched over his head. The waves obeyed, icing over the continent as it hit.

February 2005 A.D. New Orleans, LA
Mardi Gras parties were being held all over the city and the grandest ball was at the Lavache estate. Prince Luc Davietsen, a prince of a small and wealthy European country, was a guest of honor, even though he detested Americans.
He held his head high and walked with an air of superiority. The party, though grande, was not his real reason for being there. There was a woman he wished to find. He dreamt of her and also of Poseidon. In this day and age, gods were dead except for the Christian God. Poseidon was ever real. The band on Luc’s right hand was proof. It was an age old heirloom that was passed from father to son. The band was blood red and had the number 111 in gold. The woman he was looking for had the other ring. She was also the last mage of Atlantis, as he was the last king. Of course, Luc was modern and believed Atlantis sank into the see all those years ago, but he was fascinated with the hope that there was something left from the continent besides his ancestry. Luc’s twin sister, Guen was also a high ranking member of the Order. It was through her he found it.
As a member of the Order of Olympus, he was privy to this knowledge. In fact, through the Order, he discovered his heritage and later on, his ring. Poseidon came to him in dreams and showed him the woman. Luc used his influence to find her and it dead-ended in New Orleans.
“Prince Lucasa!” Dominic Lavache, the son of Andy Lavache, greeted him joyfully, “ What an honor you came. Please join us,”
Luc merely smiled as Lavache led him to a table where his father and some ladies elegantly dressed sat. Luc’s gaze, however, landed on one of the woman standing with the guards. It was her, though she looked different from his dreams. Her hair was pinned back and was golden. In the dreams, she had violet streaks. Also, she wore no ring, but it was her. He recognized her face and her startling violet eyes that were deeper than any contact lens could create.
Dominic followed Luc’s gaze.
“Monsieur, let me introduce you to Madame Beaulieu, my sister,” Luc immediately wondered why the woman was standing with the guards instead of at the table with her family.
“Anne, meet our guest, Prince Luc,”
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” her accent was soft and alluring. Luc noticed that her skin color was a dark crème. She had the linage of the mages and of the Creoles.
“Anne, would you care to dance?”
“Oui, Monsieur,” she said briskly and Luc took led her to the dance floor. The band was playing a slow Cajun song that Anne knew the steps to. Luc did not. Though she danced easily, she was tense in his arms.
“Forgive me for not knowing the steps,”
She nodded her response.
“Are you married?”
“No, Monsieur,”
“You are widowed?”
“I am Dominic’s adopted sister,”
“I see,”
Anne didn’t respond.
“My apologies for offending you,”
“So tell me what you find interesting about me. I am plainly attired compared to the rest of the ladies?”
“Yet your smile stands out like a ray of sun on a cloudy day.”
“You are looking for something more, yet I suggest you look another direction, Monsieur Lucasa, for I am not interested,” The song ended and Anne left Luc standing. She checked her watch. It was One-eleven in the morning.
Chapter 1

Sunday August 28, 2005
New Orleans

The air stuck everywhere like super glue and honey. Clouds slowly rolled in creating a sticky trap for residents who decided to ride out the storm. Anne wasn’t one of them.
Footsteps and the sound of struggle wasn’t new to this part of New Orleans. Anne paused and turned around toward the dark stranger coming to her. He held a gun and the deal he presented was ugly: If she returned, she would not be harmed; otherwise….
Anne shoved her blade into his side so fiercely she lifted him off the ground and pinned him against the cinderblock wall of the alley. Adrenaline flushed her cheeks and her cold violet eyes simply stared. Fear, strained with anger did not slip into her voice.
“Who sent you?”
Choking on blood, he rasped,
“You should know, Anne,” Blood spattered onto her face. She wiped it off. He began to laugh weakly and she twisted the blade in deeper. Thunder clapped throughout the city as a few cars raced away.
“Monsieur Lavache is willing to reconsider; he usually has his weapons destroyed once they have malfunctioned,”
Anne cracked a smile and spoke sweetly.
“Tell Monsieur Lavache that I shall pass,” Anne placed her foot on his body and kicked out the blade causing the bounty hunter to bleed more. Trembling, he murmured,
“You’ll regret this, Beaulieu,” he turned and staggered off. Anne wondered if he would even live. She let him go and changed clothes behind a dumpster. It would cramp her style to go to the airport covered in blood. . She tossed the bloody clothes and left her blade behind. She couldn’t take it with her and all she had of value was her airline ticket. Katrina was coming and Anne had the last flight for Atlanta. She had a Tante in Atlanta—she hoped Tante Miranda would take her in. Anne didn’t have family in New Orleans anymore.
She found out that her adoptive father, Andy Lavache, was behind her family’s gruesome murder fifteen years ago. Her father had stolen money from the Lavaches so he paid for it with his life, along with her mother Sarah, and her younger sister, Elainè. Anne was only seven at the time and was also at a friend’s house. It was Saturday, early afternoon. When she walked in her home, it was one-eleven p.m. Anne remembered checking her watch before going in. She would never forget that day or the fact that ever since, that number, one-eleven, has followed her.
The Lavaches were supposedly good friends of the family and adopted her. Anais Keltin Beaulieu had had enough. She made it to Louis Armstrong airport just in time to board. She had no luggage; just a small back that had one more change of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, mouthwash, and deodorant.
The Lavache family insisted that Anne earn her spot in the family. They trained her to be an assassin; or rather her family’s murder taught her the many ways to kill. Once she found out the truth, Anne made sure that he knew she was better than him by using the various ways or torture to kill him. It didn’t make her feel any better.
Anne became so good at killing that she was dubbed “Maîtresse de la Mort” or Mistress of Death. Anne hated it. Some did deserve to die; murderers, rapist, child molesters, child abusers, and such. As for the families she had to kill, Anne would pray, knowing that her crimes would be held against her one day. There were ways to kill without any pain to the victims. Anne would sing to the children she had to kill and would stay by their side until they died. Then she would kiss their rosy cheeks and cry.
“I am so sorry,” Anne would whisper and after every job well done, she would go to the confessionals crying.
“I killed a child today, Pere,” she would confess.
“God still loves you, fille, and one day you will see that. For now, do what you must do. The Lavaches have controls of this city and it means kill or be killed,” would always be the reply of the priest.
Anne was fortunate that the police were in the Lavache’s pockets, and did not have a rap sheet. There were no snitches brave enough to face the wrath of the Lavache family. Why did she kill? This question was the one Anne asked herself and only had one answer: She owed it to the Lavache’s for them taking her in. She went to private schools, had the best education provided her. She spoke eight languages: French, English, Spanish, German, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, and Russian, along with Latin, though she didn’t count Latin since it was supposedly a dead language.
She felt she owed them until she overheard a conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear: Dominic Lavache and his father, Andy, were discussing Anne. Dominic insisted that his father tell Anne the truth about her family. Andy insisted that he should have had Anne killed as well as the rest of the family. That was enough for Anne to plot her escape from the family.
Katrina came just in time to bail her out. Anne was twenty-one and it was time for her to see a lighter, brighter side to live. Anne wanted to use her skills to fight crime. When she realized that she didn’t owe the Lavaches, it was a hard truth to follow that she killed many innocents in her lifetime. Anne hoped that God was truly a forgiving God and that maybe she could reconcile those crimes.
Anne thought of that prince she danced with during Mardi Gras. He was strange, stuck up, handsome with vivid blue eyes and a dark complexion. He kept his hair long and tied in a pony tail. Lucasa looked as if he stepped out from the middle ages. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Anne would never see him again. It was strange though, that when she left him, it was one-eleven in the morning. That number was her personal symbol of death, depression, and anything else negative.
Anne didn’t know she was dozing until a flight attendant woke her.
“Ma’am, would you like something to drink?”
“Oui, Madame, merci. I would like a soda,” The woman gave her a coke and Anne sipped it. She later ate her peanuts. After the plane landed, she found her way to the baggage claim area and used a payphone. She looked up her Tante’s number and called hoping it was her Tante.
“Hello?” the voice one the on the other end was soft and high.
“Bonjour, Madame, I am trying to locate my Tante Miranda Keltin. My name is Anais Beaulieu,”
"Anais? Sarah’s daughter?”
“Oui, Madame,”
“Wow! It is so good to hear from you! How old are you? Is your mother home? Are ya’ll still in New Orleans?”
“Tante, my family has been dead for some time. I am twenty-one and I am at the Atlanta airport. I am homeless,”
“Oh, dear. You must come stay with me and tell me everything that has happened,”
“Oui, merci,”
When Anne was finally settled and showered, she noticed that it was one-eleven in the morning.
“That number follows me,”
“Strange,” Miranda frowned. They spent the night talking. Anne told her everything including her crime. Miranda didn’t judge her. Anne’s aunt had long silver hair and was slim. Her eyes were green.
“Anais, I am proud of you for making the decision to stop killing,”
“I plan to use my skills for crime fighting. I need a job and have no record. I just hope that the Lavache’s don’t harm you,”
“Anais, you are the only family I have left and don’t you worry about me. Your mother left a long time ago with that Creole man. She was in love with him and wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to tell her he was trouble. In a way, I am glad, because here you are, but she died,” Miranda broke off. The two women hugged each other tightly and sobbed.
“It was I who found to bodies,” Anne whispered, “it was one-eleven on a Saturday afternoon. I had just gotten home from a friend’s home and I found them. I thought the Lavache’s were their friend,”
“I was worried when your mother mentioned that her boyfriend, he was at the time, worked for some gang in New Orleans,”
“I will protect you,”
“No, when it’s our time to go, nothing can protect us,”
“Oui, you are right about that,”
“You have taken the first step in changing your life. Now it is time to get to bed and tomorrow we’ll go shopping,”
“Yes, I will make sure that my niece will not want,”

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