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  1. Here's a sample of the first page. But, over the course of a few different installments, I've written over a thousand pages, and now...maybe after a bit more editing, I'm going to start trying to query agents, so opinions and critiques would be welcome. The heavens shimmered with the light of a thousand suns, refusing to dim or diminish for even a single instant—unwavering in its effortless majesty. This was the Zenith, the top of the world, a place seemingly free of a single tangible defect for the cruel and fickle whim of the naked eye to hone in upon. The Zenith was a glorious place, more splendid than anything a mortal could ever hope to imagine—its grand temples and palaces, hoisted up by towering ornately carved columns—hanging tranquilly above the shimmering canopy of the sky, perimeters encircled by lush foliage bearing delectable otherworldly fruit. But, for the denizens of this realm, the loyal angels of the Zenith, the trappings of paradise were a motif that they were well acquainted with. These Angels were no strangers to fear, and, ironically enough, no strangers to vice. They lived like you or I. Myria was no different from any other angel, at least in that respect. She was an average angel, who possessed no truly exceptional qualities amongst her kin, but she was, nonetheless, a dutiful servant to the heavens--honest, diligent, and perhaps most important of all, forever in the earnest. That said, even an average angel was bound to outshine an exceptional mortal in regard to strength and beauty, so perhaps words such as average do a poor job in portraying the true majesty of an angel. But, this fact was irrelevant to Myria, who had never so much as laid an eye on a mortal or the mortal world. All Myria knew of life was an undying reverence to her Master, Lord Actrius—the infallible god king of the universe. All angels in the Zenith possessed a nigh incalculable degree of admiration for Lord Actrius. He was their creator, a beacon of undying light that stood in sharp contrast to the evil they had been created to combat, and that was why angels, by the hundreds, had amassed today in front of Lord Actrius's palace. A dense crowd of angels stood in a tightly huddled mass in the palace courtyard, anxious gazes piercing past the palace’s ascending steps and into the darkened entrance hall, a web of gently sauntering shadows streaking across the floor beneath, thick towering columns casting long dark streaks across the sun-drenched marble. Deeply ensconced within the thick crowd, Myria stood giddy, overcome with a mix of excitement and fear. Today Lord Actrius himself was to address his angels. The thought that Lord Actrius would be in such close proximity in mere moments caused Myria's heart to flutter in excitement, a rush of exhilaration coursing through her. Such was the level of anticipation that the massive crowd of angels had gathered hours in advance and the much anticipated moment was rapidly approaching. But, despite the apparently joyous nature of this occasion, an uncomfortable feeling was beginning to well up inside Myria--an impending sense of dread that she could not seem to shake off. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't stop asking herself a single terrifying question—will I live to see another day?