I’m happy to share this beautifully illustrated novel, Child of Awareness with you all today! Read on for more details!
Child of Awareness (Redeeming Grace Trilogy, Book One)
Publication Date: July 2021
Genre: NA Sci-Fi/ Fantasy/ Illustrated
Intended Age Group: New Adult (targeted at 18+)
Gracie’s fire burns holes in the fabric of spacetime. A friendship with her long-dead sister and unsettling dreams can’t penetrate the dark mystery of her father’s past. If her light can’t illuminate the truth, her father and everything she loves may be lost.
Blending science fiction, fantasy, and family drama, Child of Awareness introduces us to the flawed, immortal Usuriel Family. Called a “masterclass in world building,” this sweeping coming-of-age story weaves in themes of loss, belonging, and first romance.
Mature language, implied sexuality, violence, self-harm, and child neglect
Chapter 1 – My First Heartbreak
The first time I met my father I didn’t know anything about his history. In fact, I didn’t know he existed until I was old enough to read.
As a young child, I knew little outside of the yellowing paint and peeling wallpaper of my mother’s apartment. Occasionally Mother and I traveled to an outdoor park. She’d push me on the swings, a smile on her gaunt face and her dyed blonde hair up in a messy bun. That was rare. More often, my mother slept during the day and didn’t have the energy to take me places in the daylight. Thus, those stained walls contained most of my world.
Not to say that my mother was unloving. Each day she brushed my hair, tutting at how my wavy red strands tangled.
“My hair was just like this when I was a little girl,” she’d say, running her fingers through its silky length. “And so was my nose – covered in freckles, just like yours!” The warm pad of her thumb would wiggle the tip of my nose and I’d giggle. Her smile lit up my whole world. “Ah well, at least you got your father’s eyes.”
“What was my father like?”
A dreamy look would come into her lined face and she’d pull me into her lap. “He’s very handsome. And powerful. I think you’ll like him.” Her arms squeezed me tight. “One day I’ll take you to meet him.”
That day never came.
Like all small children, the rest of my early years have been reduced to a few bright flashes of color and the smell of old tobacco smoke. The last memory I have of my mother, however, has not faded or blurred with age.
I was about five at the time and home alone in our apartment, playing with a stack of chipped wooden blocks. After a time, I rummaged up a bowl of rice crackers from our pantry. I nibbled the edge of one. Stale, but still edible. Standing on tiptoe, I ran the tap into a battered plex drinking cup we kept near the sink. Bringing my prizes with me to the living room, I grinned at my growing block metropolis on the stained rug.
Voices in the hall. My head shot up.
“Stay quiet and…” my mother had said as she walked out the door, waiting as always for me to fill in the end of the phrase.
“Don’t open the door,” I’d intoned dutifully.
With a smile and a kiss on my brow, she’d left in a cloud of perfume and fake fur.
Her instructions had never been tested before. No one ever knocked. The only time the door slid open was at my mother’s palm. To say I was startled at the loud, sudden rapping from the entrance hall is an understatement.
A spooked rabbit, I scurried toward the relative safety of the bedroom. One scuffed shoe caught the edge of my block tower and it fell in a loud jumble behind me.
“Hello?” called a muffled voice through the door.
Available on Amazon
About the Author
Abigail Silver grew up in central Pennsylvania but currently makes her home near Charlotte, NC. She shares a humble, one-story abode with her husband, young son, and two fur children. She holds a BFA from Edinboro University in Applied Media Arts. She has been writing novel length work since high school, which was longer ago than she cares to admit. She grew up immersed in her father’s classic superhero comics and his collection of sci-fi thrillers. As an adult, she is an avid Star Trek and Dr. Who fan. When she isn’t reading, writing, or drawing (which is rare) she enjoys blasting music with the windows down on long car trips.
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