Title: Eleanor’s Gift
Author: Isis Sousa
Genre: Gothic/Dark Fantasy/Horror/Paranormal
Publisher: Tragic Books
Release Date: Oct 30 2015
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook & Print
Illustrations: Characters and Ornaments Pencil Sketches
Eleanor’s Gift is a Gothic short story, adorned with black and white illustrations and an atmosphere of darkness.
During the last days of autumn, a wave of strange happenings creeps into Lord Welton’s life. It all starts when he brings the sole survivor of a mysterious accident into his household. Soon people close to Lord Welton begin to disappear and a tenebrous danger falls upon the one he loves the most.
~My 5* Review~
Disclaimer: I received free ecopy as part of this blog tour and in exchange for nothing more than an honest review. All thoughts and opinions are entirely my own.
When I saw the email asking me to join this blog tour I was soo excited. Why? Because I had thoroughly enjoyed reading Night Of Elisa by Isis Sousa. So I jumped at the chance to review Eleanor's Gift; without even reading the blurb/synopsis; I'm really glad I did!
Eleanor is the sole survivor of a carriage accident. Lord Welton finds her and takes her home to let her recover and recuperate. But then some strange things begin to happen around Lord Welton's home. Can these things be linked to Eleanor's presence?
Eleanor's Gift is a short story but it doesn't disappoint. The characters are realistic and well thought out. The cover and art work are absolutely amazing. Once I started reading I was totally hooked.
Isis Sousa has demonstrated her wonderful talent of creating a world and characters that draw you in and make you feel apart of each and every page.
I have thoroughly enjoyed reading Eleanor's Gift and I'm looking forward to reading more of Isis Sousa's work.
I'm giving Eleanor's Gift a massive 5* Rating.
A downpour washed the dark pointed roofs, old cobblestone roads and woods surrounding Rivercrook. The strong wind shook the plants and carried away their yellow leaves. It howled at windows and doors, scaring infants and their mothers. Lightning flashed around the town’s monuments and sculptures, distorting stone faces and casting twisted shadows.
On the old cemetery road there was not a soul to be seen, yet the shadow-play of the storm made the graves seem to dance without rhythm or grace. Soon there came a wagon, pulled by two horses running for their lives and tormented by the lashes of a mad coachman; only a mad person would dare to travel in such conditions.Inside the wagon, in complete darkness, a lady held tightly to the bench. Her breathing was shallow, her heartbeat so strong she could feel it in her throat. The wagon rocked terribly and threw her belongings in all directions.
The wagon hurried along that road and then took an exit onto an earthy countryside bridleway, narrower than the roads across Rivercrook and much darker, as the trees grew tall on each side and formed a natural roof of branches and leaves. The only light the coachman could count upon was the faint reddish-yellow glow of his lamp. He knew they needed to make their way along the bridleway to the clearing. It wouldn’t take too long, but still he lashed the exhausted horses to run even faster.
They were almost there when the dying light flickered one last time. Now there was nothing but the darkness amidst the trees. The coachman saw the clearing when it was illuminated by lightning. Once they crossed it, it wouldn’t be long until they reached their destination, just a day or two more of harsh travel.
The terrain was uneven and soaked, making it difficult for the horses to stay on course. The storm obscured the moonlight and the frightening flashes were now resting in the clouds so the travelers could not see where they were going. The coachman was forced to slow the horses against his will. He had a calling, a duty to fulfill, and it could not wait any longer.
But the powers of nature can go with you or against you, and that night, despite having come so far – already such a great victory – nature was indeed against the struggling man. All it took was a slide of the left-hand horse to drag the other horse and the entire wagon with it, down the soft, muddy cliff that gave into the river. The horses, the coachman and the lady struggled against the darkness and the waters.
Writing sucks. Period.
That's why I am an artist; illustrator and graphic designer who writes in a hobby basis. Oh, wait... That's not the "why"... I was born artist, and there is nothing I can do to change it. But with all the imagination I have running lose, there came some stories... And there came some books!
When I'm not doing artwork and illustration for authors and bands, I'm doing woodcarving, painting ornaments, painting artworks for myself, collaborating with other artists and so on. Love Arts, History and Metal.Oh, and summer is a bitch! Always. Anywhere in the world.
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