Book: Evelina
By: Timothy Pearsall
Genres: Supernatural, horror, thriller, action, strong female,
paranormal, dark, adult.
Age: 16+
Synopsis:
Evelina
is a mutation. Some would say an abomination. She feeds on the suffering of
others, and her curse is longevity. Throughout the ages she is drawn to the
miseries of mankind, where there is war and suffering you will find her. At
times a warrior, a mercenary, an assassin, a whore.
In
modern London, Evelina tangles with an ordinary young couple and their lives
are changed forever. The huntress becomes the hunted culminating in a showdown
with the son of a former adversary. Flashbacks of her former life both
illuminate and complicate her unnatural character. The pace is fast, the action
bloody and furious.
Excerpt from Evelina
Gaul
- AD61
The
gladiatrix was hungry. But it was not food for the stomach that she hungered
for. She hungered for the pain and suffering of men. She had been travelling
through Gaul with a group of merchants protected by four mercenaries. They’d
each vied for her favours and she played them off each other for amusement.
They could see she was a fiery young woman but had no idea of her true nature.
At
a hostelry on the edge of a growing village that offered a ferry crossing, they
paid for food and lodgings. Eventually, with the aid of plenty of wine, she
goaded two of them into fighting over her. Their half-hearted wrestling soon
became a fight to the death and she cheered as they drew swords, their leader
however was less than impressed and intervened, dragging them outside.
She
glared at him with eyes like daggers, thinking, “You
will be the first.”
Later
that night she crept up to him as he slept,
“Come
with me…” She roused him and led him unobserved outside, the night was cold and
she pressed herself against him, he could tell she was naked beneath her robe.
“Carry
me.” She asked him as she nodded towards the woods. Only one set of footprints
left the lodgings. Once out of sight and deep in the woods, he threw her down
and roughly cast aside her robe, her pale skin inviting to his touch. Their copulation
was brief but rewarding, and then afterwards the gladiatrix had her own way.
She
stunned him with a stone, quickly bound his hands behind his back and sewed his
lips together with four looped stitches of hemp. They were too far from the
village for his muffled bellowing to be heard.
She
worked on him for some time, compelled by his agonies until she was finally
sated. Feeling invigorated she made a trail to the river and cleansed herself
thoroughly before sneaking back to the lodgings.
In
the morning there was much ado, as it was believed the evil spirit known to the
locals as Magwyrm had taken Pietro. They quickly buried his mutilated corpse
and hurried onwards on their journey to Rome.
*
London,
Windsor - 2000
On
their way home from Walther's houseboat Susan felt the old insecurities rise up
again; washing over and through her, the worthlessness, that vile impotence.
How could she express her guilt? How could she ever be worthy of anyone’s love?
Had she any to give?
“Poor
Richard…” She regretted. “…Do I really love him? Does he
love me?”
They
talked little on their way home, neither noticing the passing cars or the
piercing crescent moon.
In
her mind she whirled and swooped around in a world of regret and guilt.
While
his mind was lost in confusion, “What the hell is going on?” he tried to
rationalise the bizarre twists in recent days. He held on to her arm, caring
and wanting her close, and completely unaware that she was oblivious to his
touch.
Neither
of them heard the enthusiastic shrieking of the teenagers that they crossed the
road to avoid, or even the begging whine of the homeless door-sitter. Susan was
solely focused on the death of her mother and father, and the role that the
strange woman called Eve might have had in it.
“I’ll
find you.” She whispered without realising. Her unconscious words went
unnoticed by Richard, drowned out not just by the hubbub as they walked by the
open door of a pub, but more by the labyrinthine suppositions whirling around
his mind.
At
home, like automatons they prepared for bed. Each unconsciously observing their
usual bedtime rituals, neither totally aware of each other. Dreams came to both
of them, at least they thought they were dreams.
Richards
dream:
He
awoke, stared at the slightly fluttering curtains ahead.
“Why
are they red?” his confusion multiplied as they began to part, pulled aside
like cinema drapes.
A
terracotta-paved street stretched away from him, heat blasted up from the
sun-baked stones. He turned suddenly at the sight of
buildings to his right, ancient stone crafted and temple-like.
About the Author:
Timothy
Pearsall was born in England and grew up in the industrial West Midlands known
as 'the black country'. As a young man he moved to London where he began to
write fiction as a hobby. The hobby was largely shelved for several years when
he married and had children. He now lives in Norwich, England, and works in
local government. Now that his children are grown up and he is widowed, he is
able to spend more time writing, he has updated and renamed his Domina Mortis
books and released Evelina as the first in a dark paranormal series.
He
describes Evelina as a "dirty and Stabby" supernatural soap
heroine.
He
describes himself from the Desiderata poem as an off-the-peg person 'going
placidly amid the noise and haste'.
Connect
with the Author:
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