BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU
WISH FOR
Fifteen-year-old
Abigail Crumble was never much for talking about love and marriage and other
such nonsense – no matter how often her boy obsessed best friend pestered her
to do so. Or so she so adamantly proclaimed.
Yet on the eve of her
sixteenth birthday, Abigail makes the biggest, most contradictory mistake of
her life. She wishes on the stars for love, or even the smallest amount of
attention, without knowing the full impact of such a feat.
Abigail soon
finds her simple life in chaos as princes, men and mysterious creatures come to
her door, each adamantly in love with her and refusing to leave her side.
Mixing fantasy,
humour, and romance, The Watcher of the Night Sky begins the tale of one girl’s
quest to rid herself of a curse that was definitely far more than she wished
for.
Excerpt
Abigail paced in front of the group, pondering the reasons behind
the appearance of the men. It had been Roan’s use of the word spell that
triggered her train of thought. What if, somehow, they had
all been affected by some sort of spell? She had only ever heard
of spells from storybooks and thought her idea to be utterly absurd,
considering that spells and witches did not actually exist. But what if, considering
the situation at hand, something similar to the plotline of a fantasy story had
indeed occurred? She voiced her thoughts to the men and received blank stares
in response.
“I am under no spell,” Selwyn declared. “I know exactly how I feel
and that is very much in love with you.”
“Me too!” said Eric.
The rest of the room voiced their agreement too.
“Let me get this straight.” She paced before them. “Every single
one of you firmly believes that you are in love with me. You believe that there
is no chance that any sort of bewitching occurred and, in fact, truly believe
that you are affected by nothing other than your own feelings? That you all
showed up here to the home of a girl you’d never met before under your own free
will?”
They all agreed. Abigail was all for ranting and raving at the lot
of them for being utterly oblivious when another knock at the door occurred,
bringing a feeling of dread to her stomach.
She opened the door to find a short man with a tuft of white
facial hair on his protruding chin. He stared quizzically at her through stern
grey eyes.
“Why am I here?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“You’re probably here to declare your love to me,” Abigail said.
“Well,” he said drawlingly, “that’s rather obvious, girl. The real
question is, why you?”
“Finally!” she cried excitedly. “Someone who thinks the same way
as I do.”
“Exactly what do you mean?” he asked.
“I was just saying to the men inside my cottage that it is
illogical for them to come here and declare their love to a girl they don’t
know.”
“And a plain one at that.”
“Excuse me?” It was her brow’s turn to furrow.
“Well, you are a rather plain girl in appearance. Barely pretty,
in my honest opinion, and someone I would not glance twice at were I not in
love with you.”
Her mouth fell open.
Before she could respond, he pushed by her and entered the
cottage, leaving her gawking in his wake. She closed the door and turned to
face the variety of men crowding her sitting room. All of them watched her,
except the man who had just entered. His eyes were taking in his surroundings.
“Do you have a name?” She crossed her arms against her chest.
“Cillian Frost. You may call me Mr Frost, Cillian if you must.
Your home is rather drab.”
“And you are rather rude,” she said, her reserve of politeness
fading.
“Blunt, child. I am blunt and to the point. I do not sugarcoat my
observations and I certainly do not refrain from speaking the truth. If that
offends you, then that is your own narrow-mindedness.”
“Do you often go around offending the girls you claim to love?”
asked Etva.
“It is rare for me to be in love.” He took a seat beside the
dwarf. “Love is a feeling that can confuse many a man into falling for even the
ugliest of ladies. I would rather not seek it.”
“Are you quite finished?” Her face grew redder by the minute.
“I am not suggesting that you are ugly, child. Plain, but not
ugly. Indeed, I am merely stating that beauty is not necessarily beheld by the
eye. A sound character, a portion of wit and common sense, or a reasonable
amount of intelligence can make even the plainest of faces more appealing.” He
paused before he turned to Etva. “I suppose we are all here for the same
reason?”
“So it would seem.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea as to why that is?” Abigail
asked Cillian, although truth be told, she would rather not speak with him.
“I have numerous thoughts and suspicions.” He eyed the rest of the
men in the room. “I shall need time to assess before conveying my observation.”
“Oh joy,” she muttered.
About Rachel
Rachel was born and raised in
Scotland but has a ridiculously English surname. A graduate of psychology,
she now resides in South Korea. She has dabbled in teaching children, but after
a few blessed years has succumbed to teaching business English to adults in
Seoul.
Rachel has been writing stories for
as long as she can remember. An obsession with Point Horror books led to her
first novel being written at the age of ten. Truth be told, it wasn't very good.
The following years were spent reading, amateur acting in a youth group,
occasionally playing guitar, and dabbling in songwriting, all the while
continuing to write stories unworthy for print and developing her own style.
A mixture of inspiring authors had a
huge influence upon her mind: S. E. Hinton, Mario Puzo, R. L. Stine, William
Goldman, C.S Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Neil Gaiman, J. K. Rowling ... the list
goes on. For years, Rachel has cited The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton as her
favourite book. These days, she considers The Princess Bride by William Goldman
to be at the top of the list. But the list always changes. How can one simply
pick a favourite from all the wonderful books out there? It's like trying
to pick one favourite food. Inconceivable!
