Son of a Pitch YA Entry: The Fall of Troy
Title: THE FALL OF TROY
Age and Genre: YA FantasyWord Count: 76,000
Query: Helen of Troy has died twice. Once in the white city as it burned around her, and the second time in the Asphodel Meadows, the river Lethe washing her past away. All she knows of who she used to be is from whispered myths.
When Helen enters Elysium, the eternal paradise where heroes live out their afterlives, she learns that the myths got it wrong. Paris did not steal her away for love—he has always loved men—and what the stories call a kidnapping was a rescue, the Prince of Troy saving her from a husband who left bruises on her skin. But Menelaus is still hunting her, and now that he knows she is in Elysium he will do anything to get her back. When he threatens war, Helen knows the choice she has before her: return to her husband with a prayer that time has softened his edge, or watch history play itself over, heroes fighting and dying once more for the glory of her name.
But Helen is tired of men seeing her as a cause, or a flag, or a prize—she is a girl, and in Elysium she could be a hero. So she trains for battle, determined to face Menelaus with a blade in her hand. For the first time, Helen of Troy will make her future her own.
First 250 Words:
The flowers were as insubstantial as we were. They were gray, too, as gray as the rest of the landscape, and they whispered among themselves, the petals fluttering without wind, as if sharing secrets. But there were no secrets in the Asphodel Meadows, just as there was no color.Only, sometimes—there was.Time had little meaning here, but I marked it by his arrival. I saw the distant glow of him, the light of the living as he moved through the throngs of the dead. Other shades clamored around him, drawn like I was to the way he shone, the gold of his hair and the sword by his side. It was better and worse when he came, for my mind was clearer at the sight of him but the sharpness of it cut me in a way the numbness could not. Still, I felt myself move toward him, close enough that I could hear his voice. It sounded like music.“I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over, until the words began to blur together.I pushed closer, through the other shades that blocked my path, until I was by his side, looking at him for the first time. He was more beautiful up close, all sharp planes and light and so much life it hurt to look at
Age and Genre: YA FantasyWord Count: 76,000
Query: Helen of Troy has died twice. Once in the white city as it burned around her, and the second time in the Asphodel Meadows, the river Lethe washing her past away. All she knows of who she used to be is from whispered myths.
When Helen enters Elysium, the eternal paradise where heroes live out their afterlives, she learns that the myths got it wrong. Paris did not steal her away for love—he has always loved men—and what the stories call a kidnapping was a rescue, the Prince of Troy saving her from a husband who left bruises on her skin. But Menelaus is still hunting her, and now that he knows she is in Elysium he will do anything to get her back. When he threatens war, Helen knows the choice she has before her: return to her husband with a prayer that time has softened his edge, or watch history play itself over, heroes fighting and dying once more for the glory of her name.
But Helen is tired of men seeing her as a cause, or a flag, or a prize—she is a girl, and in Elysium she could be a hero. So she trains for battle, determined to face Menelaus with a blade in her hand. For the first time, Helen of Troy will make her future her own.
First 250 Words:
The flowers were as insubstantial as we were. They were gray, too, as gray as the rest of the landscape, and they whispered among themselves, the petals fluttering without wind, as if sharing secrets. But there were no secrets in the Asphodel Meadows, just as there was no color.Only, sometimes—there was.Time had little meaning here, but I marked it by his arrival. I saw the distant glow of him, the light of the living as he moved through the throngs of the dead. Other shades clamored around him, drawn like I was to the way he shone, the gold of his hair and the sword by his side. It was better and worse when he came, for my mind was clearer at the sight of him but the sharpness of it cut me in a way the numbness could not. Still, I felt myself move toward him, close enough that I could hear his voice. It sounded like music.“I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over, until the words began to blur together.I pushed closer, through the other shades that blocked my path, until I was by his side, looking at him for the first time. He was more beautiful up close, all sharp planes and light and so much life it hurt to look at
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