Progeny Cover Reveal @Ellis_blackburn
Northwest where she currently lives with her husband and three beastly, furry
She is a writer of fiction and poetry and the
internationally published author of Regeneration X.
One of a Number.
Nineteen-year-old, Emery Kidd is one of two historians for her community. As a Chronicler, she is aware of the minute details of a society dramatically changed in the course of the two hundred years since cellular regression began. However, it is only now, after one of her lifetimes has passed, Emery discovers an important fact about her own heritage. She is the daughter of the most famous of regeneratives to have ever lived.
Consequently, Emery is also quietly learning just what it means to be the daughter of a martyred woman. Undoubtedly, she bears a strong resemblance to her mother, but more than auburn hair and expressive facial features, Emery would like to believe she’s inherited the same strength of character as well. And yet, believing and knowing are entirely separate matters.
Since everything changes with time—in varying degrees—and destiny often unfolds a plan unforeseen, Emery may just find the opportunity to test her belief. In fact, the entire human population will come face to face with their true inheritance.
The question is how this legacy will be received. For the future is inevitable, this much is certain. Lest we forget, the mere passage of time does not come with it the entitlement to life. To live and prosper is a path that is earned, but mankind has seemingly forgotten this. Can Emery remind the world that survival requires conscious effort? Will Emery and her friends, Cassidy, a fellow chronicler, Liam, a brilliant engineer, and Aiden, a reserved mediator be enough to save the oblivious many?
And now for the moment you have been waiting for…
patches of sky, in between the scattered cottony clouds that have rolled
in. As a shiver travels along my arms, I suddenly become aware of the
coolness within the borders of the park.
Although my jacket is buttoned all the way to my neck, I pull at the
woolen sides and wrap my arms around my waist. My fingers tingle.
Looking down at reddened tips of the fleshy side and bluish tinge of my
nails on the other, I know my nose and cheeks are bound to be rosy as
well. It’s a wonder I didn’t feel the bite until now. A brisk walk will
put some distance between me and this place. I’ve shed a fair amount of
baggage these past few months, but lately there are new meditations to
store in an invisible backpack—a burden I’ve been unknowingly carrying
upon my shoulders for years.
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