We begin with a dream.

A woman. A cross. Pain that lives in the body, not just the mind.

These are the first lines of The Second Coming of Grace—a story that opens with a haunting, and doesn’t let go.

Prologue
Grace was naked. Her body was slammed against the splintered wood of the cross, and pain shot through her limbs as the nails pierced her wrists and feet. Her body was a heavy lump of flesh and water, and the air was thick with dust and sweat and blood. In agony and unbearably vulnerable, she could faintly hear the crowd in the distance. She tried to scream, but her voice was a puff of air that was blown away in the din.
The world around her receded, and Grace woke up sweating. The dream lingered—she had lived it.
She breathed in.

I wrestled with this opening. Was it too much? Too intense? Too strange? Was the historically accurate nudity appropriate?

But Grace’s story isn’t ordinary. And neither is her awakening.

The dream doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from deep within her body memory—some call it trauma, others call it the soul’s imprint. Either way, she feels it before she understands it. That’s how most transformation begins.

These lines mark the beginning of a journey that spans generations, lifetimes, and faiths. A journey toward remembering who she really is… and what she’s here to carry forward.

Launch day is less than one week away.
Thank you for walking with me this far.