Well be gentle…well who am I kidding, feel free to pick this apart. It’s the first few paragraphs of a novel I am writing. It’s extremely cliche starting off, the way I want it to be, so it can take that dramatic, non fairy tale turn for the good in later chapters. Also, the name “Dark Angel” is highly overused, yes, so don’t comment on my lack of originality because it’s supposed to be like this to throw readers off for much later 
This is how my novel begins and it sets up my tale in an unusual way, as this will be one of the many sub plots that will drive my characters through the story…and then they go on and discover other things blah blah blah…actually the whole theme of my plot is love, and sacrifice and hardships and other gut wrenching stuff, but you wouldn’t know it by reading this little part.
So basically all I’m asking is comments or opinions on how I write and how professional or unprofessional sounding the tone is, if I don’t elaborate on certain things or not…I just need a bit of guidance to get me started, and if you don’t mind…
(and please don’t come right out and tell me I suck…tell me <u>why</u> I suck )
<B>EDIT-The whole posting thing fucked up my paragraphs…sorry</b>
The Dark Angel had lived for centuries, but had never known companionship. He had never known freedom, and not once in his excruitiatingly long immortal life, was he allowed access to the outside world. He had no birthright, no known origin and no known purpose but to prosper in the only home he would ever know-a divine sanctified tower that stood tall and imposing, plunging it's spire deep into the thick greyish clouds that mysteriously never left the structure's shadow.
It was all the Dark Angel knew of his vague existence, and after nearly a millennia of wandering it's seemingly endless and bountiful hallways, he had yet to find a door to lead him out of his pent up misery. He tried, many times, unsuccessfully, to reach the base of the tower, a decision which left him lost and abandoned, in the maze of stairways spiralling almost into nowhere. The memory always weakened and disheartened him and for many decades he did not attempt escape again.
The Dark Angel had never been in contact with any other creature in his life. He was, and always thought he'd be alone to spend the rest of eternity rotting away in the highest place in the world he knew so little of. He knew, to suffer such a penance of imprisonment and solitude, he must have done something unworldly and terrible in his hazy past, which he could not remember very well. All he could recall was spending every aching minute enclosed in such a wide space. It was his personal obsession now, to find out and remembering the crime he committed to be locked away in such a lonely confinement. Much of the Tower was left to his imagination. Perhaps someday, if he searched hard enough, he would find the answer and a key to his way out. Someday, though. He was already upon the road to discovering his identity. If he knew just exactly what he was, then maybe he'd know the limit and possibilities of what he could become.
Every morning, the Dark Angel rose with the sun. The circular, highest room in which he lived in faced directly into the western horizon, and on clear days he would take in the beautiful awe that greeted his shining grey eyes. A deep purplish red bled out of the country side and slowly, which each breath taking moment, rose to the empty sky, as if it were all for him. He drunk in the landscape alone, ridged and still, with a slow heartbeat that he thought sped up a bit when he met this powerful image with his sharp gaze. That circular glass window was his only motivation towards freedom, strengthening him at the start of everyday. Often times he would stand and force his eyes shut to dream about the crisp and cool air he would breathe in once the warm sunlight shone upon his pale, pale face.
The mornings were always best, and the most silent, the earth below his tower asleep and unaware. It was the only time the Dark Angel felt pity for the people below. To miss such an awesome and extraordinary sight was a sad thing to him. After all, sun rises were all that made him hold onto his meaningless life.
His eyesight was excellent, to say the least, and often times, when the sun passed over his tower and became midday, he would gaze longingly down upon the tiny figures below his tower. He could just barely see the base of it, and often times, people were scattered around, as if looking for an entrance. The Dark Angel knew it was hopeless to try and get them to notice him, for he reminded himself that he was sealed away up there for a reason. But if so, why were residents from the nearest village trying to get him out? Or was that their intention? The first time he had caught sight of life near his tower, he fled his room and hurried down the long circular hallways leading to enchanted staircases which disappeared once he took a direct course down, and others that mysteriously appeared later, frustrating him and causing him to alternate his path to get to the bottom floor. In all his years, the Dark Angel had explored nearly 50 floors of rooms filled with ancient libraries full of vast and exotic knowledge and old weapon storages. Most of the rooms, were filled with inky blackness, and were empty, save for a damp fireplace with no chimneys. He could separate empty rooms, and rooms which would prove of use to him, quite easily, as the ones which held antiquities and books and old brittle furniture in them, their doors were not as rough looking as the doors which were locked and or empty. Of course, he estimated he travelled half of the tower before, which was almost 50 floors, and had arrived only halfway down the Tower’s inner structure. Such a marvellous and mystifying place it was, though the Dark Angel knew it held more secrets and long past memories than he could hope to find.
He often wondered what other creatures and people thought of his Tower, looming in the sky, useless and forbidden. How many people had tried to break in, to discover the place’s hidden magic? He contemplated thoughts sometimes, with logic, telling himself that someday, someone would come for him, or someday, the Tower’s aura and “presence” would reveal everything he longed to ask. The Dark Angel knew he was an outcast, and as many many years past, viewings upon viewings of the people below, he began to realize how different he was from the natural society he observed daily. The village, that was no more than a few kilometres away, grew and upgraded as the years passed. People and society changed. But he didn’t. And it pained him to want to ask why. He didn’t understand. Despite the thousands upon thousands of books he devoured into his mind over the course of hundreds of years, he knew he would never understand until his link with the outside world was established.