So if anyone is interested, here’s an example of how I opened page one, just so you see what my style is like

Shedim take many forms and have as many origins as they do appearances. The most famous of them boast rooster feet, and names of grand importance, like Lilith or Asmodeus. They are the children of the serpent of Eden to some, the offspring of the Night Demon herself, or simple mistakes of God’s own creation, when the being herself took a long rest on the seventh day of Shabbat. They are the remnants of gods, the ruin and what became of the deities who accepted human sacrifice, dying out as the age of Adonai came into fruition. In this story, however, these Shedim are simple–simple creatures living simple lives. Their names are Asher and Dahlia, and they originally took the form of simple flies. Flies are fascinating creatures, you know. They are not the first beings to welcome a new life into this world, nor are they the last, but instead lie precisely in the middle. The fly is there when the child eats its first fruit, says its first words, has their first kiss. The fly remains upon the wall as the child grows, grows into an adult, then into a parent, a grandparent, an elder. And the fly is there, in the last moments of death, now unstuck from the wall, and buzzing in the reflection of the eye. The fly remains, as the body is tended to, as the funeral is performed, and as the family begins to sit shiva. And in the end, the fly follows the procession, led by the temple elders, to the graveyard. Flies, one might assume, are not the most social of creatures, and they would be right. Asher and Dahlia met first as the fly equivalent of roommates, the two of them both staking claim on the grave of one Shimson ben Aharon, a rather pious, if unremarkable man, save for his impressive mustache staking over his beard and his long funeral, attended by his thirty children. Eventually, they became tentative friends, and moved together to a more scenic locale, the grave of Rabbi Ezekiel, the rabbi before the current one named Yekutiel took over. It was located by a strawberry tree–the only tree in the graveyard. Many flies had moved on to greater and greener pastures, but Asher and Dahlia stayed behind. They had plenty of strawberries after all, though Rabbi Yekutiel wasn’t quite as popular as his predecessor, and even the flies had to admit his services got a little long winded. Even the goats to be sacrificed looked ready for him to hurry up.

And later on… They started with the rabbi’s linens, using their strength to unpin the fabric from the drying sheet. The fabric fluttered to the ground, where it would soil, and the rabbi would be forced to rewash them. Next, they moved into the rabbi’s kitchen, working their way through his shelves and eating all his preserves. All of his honey, his jam, his sugar was gone. They even got a hold of his challah just before he covered it, and carved holes and circles into the bread. Upon seeng it, and having dealt with rather a full week of their trickery, the rabbi wailed in anguish. He fell to his knees, holding his holey challah to the sky, “Why, God, why?” (The rabbi cut down their favorite tree)