Should I even try to continue?

This book I'm supposedly trying to write, I have no idea if it's worth it.  Here's a little piece from the beginning.  I think I might just post little bits of it from time to time, just to get a second opinion.  Tell me what you think<3

Sincerely, Michelle(:

            It's so dark, I'm running, running as fast as I can, but I know it won't be enough.  I have to get there.  I have to get there now.  Blue and silver mist creeps up on me.  It swirls around me and makes it hard to see.  Soon I can't see at all, but I have to keep running.  I can't stop running, because then I would be too late.  I can't be late.  I have to get there before it's too late.

            They're chasing me now.  The mist and the darkness swirl together and hide them, but I know they're coming.  I have to get there before they do.  They're getting closer.  I have to run faster, but I can't.  I can't run any faster.  My legs don’t want to move anymore, they're full of lead and weighing me down.  I can't run anymore, but I can't stop.  I have to keep running or they'll get me.

It seems as though I'm running in water.  I'm so slow.  The water tugs at my legs and pulls me down.  It takes tremendous effort, but eventually I'm back up and forcing my tired legs to keep pushing, to keep running.  They're closer now, I can hear them breathing and whispering my name.  I have to keep running no matter what.  A long, snake-like tendril of vines comes out of nowhere and trips me.  I fall hard.  I'm on my face again, and this time I can't get up.  I know I have to get there, but now there's no time, and I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it…

            I wake up sweating and panting.  It was only a dream, nothing can get me here.  I'm perfectly safe.  I have to tell this to myself several times before I can finally drift back to sleep.

                                                                                                           

            Sunlight streams in through my window, practically blinding me as the maid throws open the curtains.  Soft light reflects off of white marble floors, making it hard.  I hide my face under the silken purple sheets and roll over.  Shoes click back and forth on the floor, making it impossible to sleep.  Sleep?  Yes, I've been asleep.  I had no dreams after I woke up last night, that’s a good thing, right?

            The little maid is darting back and forth, fixing every little thing out of place.  That explains the tapping shoes.  Her light brown hair is pulled into a tight bun, tied only with a pink bow.  The rest of her outfit is that of an ordinary household maid:  simple black dress and a white apron skirt.  The guards are usually very strict on what a maid can, and can't wear.  I'm surprised they let her have a ribbon at all, let alone a brightly colored one.  Her tiny feet dance across the floor.  She should be a dancer, not a lowly maid working in this cold, stone prison.

            "Princess, I've prepared a breakfast for you, and it's in the dining room.  Your riding clothes are freshly pressed and in your dressing room.  Miss Wilson is expecting you at eight in the courtyard." She speaks softly.  Her voice is so small and timid, it reminds me of a mouse.

            "Aurora. Just Aurora." I automatically correct her.  It gets really old when you have servants and maids and teachers waltzing around with their "princess this," and "princess that," it's not like I asked to be royalty.  It's seven o clock.  Great.  Here comes another day in the gloriously boring life of sweet Princess Aurora Hamilton.