Title: The Spires of Arlia: Apostasy

Chapter: Prologue

Plot: An assassin / serial killer is stalking a young, vulnerable target. The stage is set for a dark, macabre story, and we are not sure if the main character here is a protagonist or an antagonist. This is sure to be revealed with further reading

Style / Voice: This section is written from the point of view of the assassin. It includes several brief flashes that are indicative of the possibility that the assassin’s weapons may also have a point of view in all this.

Referencing: While it is a little early in the story, nothing occurs in the prologue that seems to jar the reader or indicate a discrepancy in the time frame.

Setting: The scene occurs at the Basilica. I think that you might want to sprinkle in a tad more description of the building and the area surrounding the scene, but what you have is easily enough to covey your intent and carry the story to the next phase.

Characters: The assassin (The Wolf), the victim, and the “tools”

Grammar: Good for the most part, at least enough to convey the message. See line by line for suggestions

My Opinion: This is a good hook for your story. This is the second time I have read this, and the editing is coming along nicely. I have made a few suggestions, but please bear in mind that I am as far from being a professional as a fourteen year old is from being an adult (light hearted jab at my daughter, there). I am definitely looking forward to reading more off this novel. Keep up the good work

Line By Line:
Staring through the window of the lower levels of the Basilica, he licked his lips as he watched his
I think I’d go with “He stared…, licking his lips…”
prey - the young Sister Deacon [is this a title or a name?]. She'd been buried in old and dusty books for a good portion of the evening. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and stretched her arms, and he knew that she would soon retire for the night. Though, no matter how long she was willing to stay awake, he was willing to wait [maybe reverse the order of these two phrases]. He allowed himself no scrap of impatience, for to rushrushing things would steal the thrill of the moment[;] Hhis moment.

He had rolled the plan over in his head for weeks, and calculated all the methods of stalking this morsel. It would be unacceptable to botch this hunt. This was the highest he had ever aimed, and though the risk was high, his labor would be well worth it.

The chilling breeze slowly began to build to a small torrent of howling wind, carrying with it,remove comma small flakes of the first snowfall, and they stuck in his dark, matted hair like ashes upon spilt honey. The black, mud stained cloak draped over his shoulders swayed
I like the metaphor, but honey tends to convey a color as well as a consistency
in the strong wind, whipping at the frayed ends like a tattered banner upon a rusty mast.
Nice visual here

The blade, he could hear, was calling to him... crying to him. It too, was as much a hunter as he, and it had been famished for far too long. His cadre wasn't large by any standards. He preferred to travel in a small hunting group, accompanied only by his dirk, garrote, and gag. Each of whichthem had their own tastes in prey, and they had found this morsel to be into all their liking. She was simply delicious. The more he thought of his plans, the hungrier they became. Each of them werewas eager to make the kill, but each knew that they had to be patient. Rushing things would only lead to disaster. Something they were quite unfamiliar with.

Their hunting experience had been a long and successful one. However, until this moment, they had always considered themselves to be amateurs. Most of their time had been spent on the trail hunting the whores and unfortunates in the slums and brothels. The glory of the hunt had nearly vanished, for their prey was far too weak. It was far too easy. This one however, would be different. This hunt would be exciting.
I wonder how many of these easy victims are actually found on “the trail”? Perhaps “moving from town to town” would be more effective.

She was perfect; flawless. The whores and unfortunates had nothing to offer him compared to this morsel. Not even a single tear was shed for such animals. No one missed them, or cared for them. None mourned their deaths, or so much as looked twice at their lifeless bodies. Such a reputation began to bore them, and they needed a new excitement. She was it.
You changed your PoV in the middle of this paragraph. You should focus on the assassin’s emotions, in my opinion

As the sounds of the distant streets began to die out to a soft murmur echoing through the dark alleys, he began to quiver with absolute rapture. He knew that it would not be long. Soon the light in her quarters would go out, and the fire in her eyes would glaze over(in sleep or in death?). Then, she would be his prey.semicolon So innocent, so[and] pure, so resolved, so helpless. She was now in his sights, and though his previous endeavors had never survived the hunt. This would not be the same.
The last two lines here lost me. They seem contradictory.

His mind raced with all manner of thoughts and expectations, and he could feel adrenaline surging through his body. He could only imagine her delicious scent and taste. Soon, it wouldn't be his imagination[;] it would be real. He would be alive, and so would she.To kill or not to kill, that is the question. Is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take up arms against a sea of sorrows… oh, sorry. Got carried away. Anywho, is she going to live through her assassination? His breathing grew heavy as he watched her close the heavy book and rub her eyes. It was almost time.

This night was going to last forever, and it would be remembered. He would be feared, and exalted. He could only imagine as to the wake he would leave behind. She was too pure to not be mourned.[;] Too innocent to not be noticed. This sister Deacon would begin a great endeavor.

He had cased her quarters for days, and he knew,[no comma] that in the lower cloisters he had little to fear. The walls were thick, and the doors were heavy. The locks were invulnerable to force. None would notice his trespass. Her faint whimpers would go unheard. Their feast would go unseen.
********************


He had waited outside the window for nearly two hours after the light in her quarters (was)finally quenched. By now, she was certainly in sound sleepsound asleep. He could only wonder as to what she was dreaming about. Soon, that dream would come alive, and so would she.
Again you refer to her as coming alive. If it is not the assassin’s intent to murder you should say so. A kidnapping or murder/rape is perfectly acceptable in this scenario, but I think you should clarify his intent

Inspecting the window, he knew that it was certainly locked. He felt his fingertips tingle as he focused his thoughts and emotions into a tangible energy. He placed his palm on the cold glass, and he could hear the iron mechanisms click as he released the energy. He despised resorting to such methods on petty devices.[;] It felt almost like he was cheating. He preferred using his hands, and his tools.

The unlocked window creaked on its hinges as he slowly lifted. He was silent as he slipped through it. His first foot touched the cold wooden floor and his fingers began tingling with anticipation. The dirk at his side, screamed(I hope it was a silent scream) with delight. His second foot felt the touch of the splintered wood beneath him, and with slow precision, the window was shut. Through his dark eyes, the fiery excitement was blinding. He was famished, and he had waited for this night too long.

The moon loomed in the midnight sky, and it's [its] light burst through the occasional breaks in the oppressive clouds. The cold glow of the moonlight[no comma], had illuminated her room and showed her off(try a different verb here, i.e. outlined, exposed… Try to make it more sensual.) in the small bed. Beneath the heavy woolen covers, her gentle breaths rose and fell in her bosom. She was sound asleep.

Her Deacon's [vestment] hung at the foot of her bed in almost a perfect order. The dark gray cassock and [tunic] were most likely still warm from the heat of her innocent body. Laid atop it, her white stole draped over [them] in immaculate manner, as if she were still wearing it over her shoulders. It was an excellent binding.Not quite sure that the last sentence serves any purpose. Either expand on it as a description or eliminate it entirely.

His gentle footsteps made no sound as he crept to the side of her bed, melted invisible within the shadows[.] His hand was slow at pullingslowly pulled the garrote out of his deep pockets, and he bit his lip with pleasure. The soft, cold touch of black leather caressed her scarlet lips as his gloved hands prepared formade their first strike. Death itself had entered this room, and its chilling grip clasped over her mouth like a vice. No one would hear her scream. She was now his prisoner.

Her efforts to scream were little more than whispered yelps muffled by the cold hand of [T]he [W]olf. The onslaught began as he ripped her out of the bed. With the precision of only the most experienced hunters, he was quick to wrap the thin metal garrote cord around her neck. As swift as the serpent's tongue, his hand went from the warmth of her lips to the grip of the hungering cordage. As his vice tightened, her breathing began to slow, and the weight of her perfect, naked body sunk to the chill of the wooden floor.

He released his grip on his garrote, and coiled it around her small wrists. As he watched her gentle breathing, wide eyes raced around the room. She was his. He snatched the white stole draped over her [vestments],[no comma] and bound her feet together. The gag came out of his other pocket,[no comma] and[,] as if it were something alive, it wrapped around her mouth like a snake around its meal. She was his.

His muscles twitched with pleasure as he lifted her limp body back into the warm bed. The night was still so young, and he had all the time in the world to feast on his prey. He removed the leather gloves from his hands, and stroked his finger down the soft skin of her naked body. Sighing with rapture, his eyes closed as he imagined his newest masterpiece. Like the slow flow of time itself, the dirk slid from its sheath at his side, and he began his reign over her. This night was perfect.

Is she conscious at this point? Your ending might benefit from showing the fear in her eyes, or the trail of tears running along her cheeks. Did she stare angrily at him, or turn away in terror? Just some ideas. The fact that your piece elicited these thoughts and ideas and questions shows how powerful your prose is. I look forward to reading more.