Prophecy of the Most Beautiful (Oracle of Delphi #1)
Fantasy (Mythology) | Young Adult
Constant hallucinations and the frequent conversations with the voices in her head, have earned eighteen-year-old Chloe Clever the not-so-coveted title of “Whack Job” in her home town of Adel, Georgia. Fed up with prescription meds and therapists, she wishes for a life where she is destined to be more than the butt of everyone’s jokes and mockery.
Be careful what you wish for has never rung more true.
After a vicious attack and learning that her favorite rockstar is an Olympian god, she is thrust into her new life as the Oracle of Delphi, the prophesier of the future. Setting out to fulfill the prophecy she has been given, Chloe learns of how great she is to become, all the while fighting mythical monsters and trying to outwit the ever-cunning Greek gods who harbor secrets of their own. While on a mission to discover the Most Beautiful, she strives to uncover the mysteries of the demigod Prince who has sworn to protect her with his life…and threatens to win her heart in the process.
Prophecy of the Most Beautiful Excerpt
Another three blizzard-filled hours passed before their help arrived.
“Och! Check this out!” Ace exclaimed. He had been leading the group through a tight thicket of snow-covered trees. Spotting something up ahead, he took off running.
“What the…hey! Wait for me!” Swindle exclaimed and sprinted off behind him, Bill flying overhead. Soon, they were all running to see what Ace had found.
“Thank the gods!” Dropper exclaimed as they emerged from the grove. Chloe bit her lip to keep from screaming with relief herself. Way to go, Apollo.
It was a cabin, logged and sealed in the corners with bricks. It had a timber wood porch surrounding three sides and a brick chimney spouting puffs of smoke. Flickering light spilled out of the cabin’s tiny windows, promising safety and warmth on the other side. The others whooped loudly and leapt up the porch stairs.
Strafford stopped her when she tried to follow them. “Why did you ask him for help?”
How did he know?
She tried her best to pull away from him, but he wasn’t letting go of her arm. “It’s cold,” she snapped, “and it’s snowing! We were freezing to death out there!”
“Bah!” Strafford grunted, releasing her. “They’re demigods! They weren’ gonna freeze to death, Red!”
That ticked her off. “I’m not a demigod! Dropper isn’t a demigod!”
“So it’s abou’ tha’ wanker, eh?”
“Jealous, much? And what’s your problem anyway? You can’t expect everyone else to hate your dad just because you do!”
He groaned and pulled her by the back pocket of her jeans as she tried to storm away. “This isn’t abou’ me and Apollo, Red. This is abou’ you makin’ decisions without askin’ me first.”
“I don’t have to ask you for permission to do anything!” She tried to walk away but he yanked her back, this time cupping her bottom with his hand to keep her in place. If she hadn’t been so flustered, she might’ve slapped him, but…
“You do need my permission, Red,” he said, his face close to hers. “And if you’d consulted with me before you decided to ask a favor from a god without a tribute, I would’ve told you how stupid of an idea tha’ was. Gods don’t do anythin’ without expectin’ somethin’ in return.” He let his voice drop a level. “And now you’re in a god’s debt. And believe me, Red, Apollo will collect on it, and you’ll be questionin’ whether the favor was worth it when it’s time to pay up.”
Diantha was born on Thanksgiving Day so that explains why her mother calls her a “turkey.” She spent the first 16 years of her life as an official Army brat (now she’s a retired one), and has spent the last twelve years living in Georgia (Atlanta, then Savannah). She now resides in Washington D.C. She loves to read and watch movies (Quentin Tarantino is her fave director), and she loves cold weather and french fries (with cheese if possible).
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When did you start writing?
I started writing (seriously) in 2010 after I realized my life was not headed in the direction I’d planned for it to go, and there was a good chance it never would. Looking back, I’m so glad I made that wrong turn.
What inspires your writing?
The Quiet. Noise distracts, but in the silence, there are endless possibilities and an entire plane for your imagination to play around in. There’s nothing I enjoy more than letting my imagination run buck wild.
What is the best part about being a writer?
The Tingle. You know, that feeling in your stomach when you’re about to release a new book or have just come up with your next project. The feeling never disappoints and never gets old.