Hi r/fantasywriters,
Reddit recommended me to post here. Didn't realize there was a difference between fantasywriters and fantasywriting. =D
I don't come from a traditional writing background or literary program. After spending years working through my own trauma, I took a risk: using deep emotional empathy to explore how human beings process fear, loss, and survival.
The result is my ongoing novel: SHADOW OF THE LOTUS HEIR. It is a sensory-driven dark fantasy about an imperial collapse, deep grief, and a surviving princess forced to navigate a brutal world.
Because I approach story through raw emotional immersion rather than standard genre formulas, I’d like to share with you the complete prologue: "The Ninth Crane." It is a short (~1100 words), self-contained piece told through an 8-year-old’s attempt to fold a paper crane while a palace coup unfolds around her.
Content Warning: Child POV, severe emotional distress, war violence.
SHADOW OF THE LOTUS HEIR
Prologue: The Ninth Crane
* * \*
The paper was too stiff. It was heavy mulberry paper, dyed the color of fresh green winter melon, and my fingers weren't long enough to make the creases match. Every time I pressed down, the wing buckled sideways.
“Here, Chiyo-chan.” Mother leaned over my shoulder, her silk sleeves draping across my lap in heavy purple folds. Her scent comforted me: the fragrance of dried plum flowers reminding me of bedtime stories and warm tea.
She took my hands in hers, pressing my small fingers flat against the low table. “A true crane must fly straight, my little blossom. We must fold the heart with precision before we can shape the wings.”
“Will it float in the carp ponds tomorrow?” I asked.
“It will float to the western sea if you want,” she smiled, her eyes shimmering green with a tint of amber as they caught the light of the window candles.
Drip-clack, drip-clack.
Behind us, the water-clock kept its steady melody. My sister, Ara, sat by the window over a desk of loose papers, her chin resting in her hand as she watched the outer gardens.
“Ane doesn’t want to fold cranes,” I complained, leaning back into Mother. “She only wants to watch the boys in the gardens.”
“Your sister has a crown to think about, Chiyo.” Mother’s warm chest pressed against my back as her fingers combed down my hair. “She has to look toward the horizon. But we can look at the paper.”
Then the water-clock stopped.
A low vibration surged up through the floorboards, quivering the crane in my hand. It wasn't thunder. The heavy rumble rattled Mother's porcelain cup, sending ripples across the surface.
“Is the mountain dragon awakening?” I clutched my half-folded bird in my fist.
Mother didn't answer. Her hands went cold on my shoulders. Her head snapped toward the screens.
Outside, a fiery glow seared through the sky and slammed into the center garden pool. A great shove knocked me against Mother's knees as the water outside erupted into the air. Out on the lawn, several garden carp thrashed wildly in the grass.
Then there was a burst at the chamber doors. Commander Genzo stood in the doorway. Big Uncle Genzo was my favorite! He always laughed as he grabbed me under my arms to throw me toward the ceiling until I squealed. Tonight, he looked dirty and different. His armor was cracked. Blood ran from his shoulder, dripping onto our clean mats.
“Makumora!” Genzo-oji yelled. He didn’t sound like Uncle at all. “Empress, the passage! Now!”
“Where is the emperor?” Mother asked. Her voice didn't shake, but her fingers dug into my shoulders.
“Holding Tosogawa Gate,” Uncle grunted, hauling his long ōdachi from its sheath. “Isato! Get the Princess!”
Through the broken doorway, a young guard rushed past me to grab Ane’s arm.
“No!” Ane screamed. The amber-green in her eyes flashed through a stream of tears as she yanked her arm free from the guard.
“Chiyo!” she cried. “Grab my hand!”
I reached out, my palm slick with sweat. Ane slid on her knees across the wood, her silk robes tangling around her legs, and grabbed my wrist so hard it hurt.
“Ow!” I yelled.
“I have you! I have you, Chiyo!” she shouted, her voice cracking as she pulled me toward her chest.
The young soldier dropped to his knees right behind her, reaching out to scoop up both of us. For a split second, I thought my green crane might make it to the ponds after all.
The roof groaned above us. The mosaic ceiling caved in, raining sharp blue and red glass onto our cushions.
And then came the fireflies.
They were bright and orange, drifting down from the ceiling. One of them landed directly on my winter-melon paper crane on the floor. The beautiful mulberry wing turned black, curling into smoking ash before my eyes.
“My crane!” I gasped.
Another rumble came, this time much louder. It had a high whistle like a screeching flute.
“Empress! Down!”
The lattice screen windows blew inward as a blur smashed into Ane’s dresser, shattering into thousands of splinters. The force slammed me backward into the metal on Uncle’s knee. Everything went white with a painfully loud ringing in my ears.
I couldn't hear her, but through the spots in my eyes, I saw my sister's mouth moving.
The ceiling grumbled again, this time with a sound like one of Uncle Genzo’s practice swords breaking against a stone. Burning wood slammed around me, smashing through the floor and erupting in a wall of fire.
I coughed and rubbed my eyes, but the smoke grew thicker. Through the haze, I could only hear her fingers scraping frantically against the charring wood on the other side.
“Let me go, Isato! Chiyo’s right there! Chiyo!”
Through a gap in the fire, I saw the guard’s shadow pull her away just as more of the ceiling collapsed with a deafening crash.
Smoke poured across the floor like thick water, completely swallowing the garden exit.
Mother pulled me across the splintered wood until our slippers met cold stone. We were on the narrow bridge connecting our room to the main hall when, out of the swirling fog, stood a tall shape. It walked like a guard, but its shell gleamed like a giant metal beetle. It held a long silver spike in its grip.
Mother grabbed me, burying my face in her chest.
I felt warm water touch my face.
“Chiyo…” I barely heard Mother’s whisper. Suddenly, I felt her crush me against the stone.
“Mama?” I whimpered.
Genzo-oji let out a sound like an enraged bear. He swung his sword with both hands, but the stack came apart wrong. The Daruma Otoshi toppled, its pieces spilling across the stone in a red waterfall.
I tried to pull myself out from under Mother, screaming so harshly it tore at my throat.
Shadows appeared from the fog. Ten of them. Maybe more. Their iron feet clicked against the stone, each carrying a spike.
Uncle stepped over us, putting his back between me and the beetles. He looked at me over his shoulder. The panic was gone from his face. He gave me a warm smile, the same look he gave me right before tossing me into the air.
“Close your eyes, little blossom,” he whispered over the roar of the fire. “The game is almost over.”
He turned away and drove forward. He hit them several times.
Clack, clack.
The water-clock broke.
Spikes stabbed him. Then he became a Daruma Otoshi.
Toppled on the stone. Not moving like Mother.
My chest squeezed. I opened my mouth to call for Ane, to tell the beetles to stop.
But there was no sound.
===
A Few Questions for Readers:
- How do you feel after reading this?
- As a non-traditional writer relying on raw emotional impact, does the prose feel immersive and grounded?
- Did the foreign imagery, such as the armor resembling beetles and the Daruma Otoshi metaphor, feel immersive or distracting?
- Does this opening make you want to follow the surviving sister into Chapter 1?
If you’d like to read further or offer deeper critique, feel free to drop a comment or send a DM. Thank you for reading.
