Book:
Hidden Angel
A Story of Survival, Hope, and Redemption
Hidden Angel is the compelling story of a child’s journey through the shadowlands of survival and redemption, and Madelaine is the child lost to her mother at a very young age.
So begins the story of Madelaine finding herself captive with a group of children in a secret place traveling with the aid of mysterious strangers whose true intentions are not worthy of trust. Are they friends or are they foes?
Plagued by constant self-analysis and fears, Madelaine and her young companions also face many physical dangers of evil deeds and deceit supernaturally defeated through the protection of assigned special hosts.
A Story That Demands to Be Told
Child abduction is a nightmare that no parent should ever have to endure, yet it is an unfortunate reality in our world. Hidden Angel sheds light on this heart-wrenching issue, drawing readers into the lived experience of a child who has been forced to navigate an unimaginable reality. Through meticulous storytelling and deeply emotional prose, the novel captures both the cruelty of captivity and the boundless strength of the human heart.
Madelaine’s story is one of both suffering and salvation. It is about the will to survive against all odds and the power of love to heal even the deepest wounds. Readers will find themselves captivated by the twists and turns of her journey, compelled to turn each page expectantly, hoping for the redemption she so desperately seeks.
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“I studied his aspect every time he came noticing the crevasses impregnated on his face which told the tale of many-a-day of labouring in the freezing cold of winter and the blazing summer heat. The rough skin on his hands knew of the hard labour but in all my studious effort of our caretaker, I could not pass unnoticed the pair of deep blue eyes resting between a large structure of a nose, there was something there, deeper than their colour a certain comfort given quality a twelve-year-old cannot explain.”
“I remember the silhouette of the woman likely to be my mother, her tender gestures towards me, and a voice, a soft voice hauntingly in my ears whispering the rhyme to put me to sleep. I held a worn-out teddy the size of my small two hands for the longest time. It was a boy teddy, the soft voice placed in my hand every time I needed to sleep.”
“I remember the sweet fragrance emanating from the silhouette and a touch on my cheeks softer than teddy. Inside me feelings of affection conjured by such memories, cherishing the sparks of these fragments of thoughts I had left, for however strenuously I tried I could remember no more.”
Priscilla Hudson