(Here goes, Erin! You did Faye... I did this. Chapter One is coming, but even though I don't have anymore than that completed, I thought I should post before we hold the website funeral.)

Prologue

Sark has offered me my life for my love.
Sark will kill us all—unless we surrender Julian.
Julian is the chosen one; I see that now. It makes sense suddenly, because he was always more than what he seemed.
How could anyone do this to him? And how can he not give in? He is too noble to let Sark kill us all. When they hand him over, he will go.
Lovely Julian!
Sark has offered our lives for my love.

All listen when Julian speaks. Instead of my heart’s usual thrill, now it throbs. Soon he might speak no more.
He says he has determined betray himself to death to save lives, and he will not turn back. If it will save lives. Julian, so much better than I, would die for his own betrayers, while I realized in this moment that I would die only for him.
He tells us that all Sark said is true: Julian is the chosen. He whom they hate has been crueler than before, all because of Julian. And, for Julian or against him, many will die.
Will we fight? Will we try once more?
A lord you are—a childlike lord! I have a brother who now holds me close to keep me still, but though you speak with the voice of a mortal, younger and frailer him, your words are those of a king, above him. Strange, how you command so. Like a child, you are both flawed and pure.
Sark has offered our freedom for Julian, my Julian. (I dare not call him that aloud, only in my thoughts. There he must always remain beloved.)
Sark may as well have asked me to carve out my heart. I cannot live without a heart, and Julian cannot give me a stone to replace it. Sark has offered me my life for my love, and thus my life for my life. He has nothing to offer. Nothing to take.
But when Julian looks at me, his face says he wants no more murder, especially for him. I pierced his heart when I sobbed that Sark wanted him, that we would die if we did not hand Julian over. He looks at me as if I struck him or dropped him into swirling seas with the words I said. They are not mine, Julian, for I only carried the doom.
If I were the only one at stake, the only one to save or to be killed, I would force him to stay, for I have nothing I can lose that he is not. But the others do not love him.
Will they hand over “the boy”?
“The boy”! They spit it out as if he were a curse, a disease, or an animal. They are intolerable. They should kneel before the chosen, not talk of betraying him. But he is gracious,  even understanding, even now, even to them, which only means they will get what they want from their cowardice.
I made you laugh once upon a time, Julian. It was so easy when you were just another boy. So easy to like and be liked, to sit together and—and laugh. Just laugh. I wish I could make you laugh again, but now I have little hope that we ever will, especially when I see your face—almost weeping. If you do weep, waste no tears on me, who brought your doom, and thus, my own. Tonight and continuing, I cry for you, as you laughed for me.
Shall I cry forever, until a broken soul kills me?
“Narcissa,” you say.
I had forgotten my own name. Did you know, Julian, that you brought the narcissus out of her self-centered shell and taught her to love, without conceit or arrogance?
“Narcissa…”
No. I am Narcissa no more. Until you return, my name is Sorrow. Oh, Julian…