Prologue
~
Miss Flameheart,
I must thank you profusely and formally for allowing me to write this biography on your behalf. This is your personal copy in my own penmanship, so please do not lose it.
You have been through hell for my sake and for the sake of this country. The interview process has been difficult, I know. If it were not for you, I would likely have never seen my sister again.
Your memory loss has stolen so much from you. So it is my fervent belief that this book will allow you to remember, cherish, and relive these important events in our nation's history even years from now.
Let me iterate what I said before: you are extremely brave to publish this novel. I know you were hesitant. This will not speak only to you, but to others who feel the same way in this society as you.
You have taught me so much, especially about the part I have to play in this story.
Thank you for everything.
I know you find it difficult to accept these tokens even if you feel them deep inside, so please believe me.
I love you, as a sister in both arms and heart.
E. Everspring
~
Night shattered as alarms sounded in the keep; the heiress had escaped.
The girl standing atop the keep's wall cowered and held her long pointed ears as bells rang. The sounds echoed in her skull and caused a streak of pain in the back of her brain. Lightning flashed, illuminating her home and prison.
The stone was slick with cold rain. The falling water pummeled her back, soaking her linen chemise. It stuck incessantly to her skin.
The word 'frail' could describe her in multiple ways. Despite her small stature, I believe 'strong' would be more accurate. The things she had endured....
The bottom of her feet scraped against the slick cobbles. Her brain was filled with thick fog. Those horrible bells — they pounded against her eardrums. Peering through the storm, she could see very little.
She mouthed, I need to get down.
Multiple iterations of the dark forest swam before her eyes. Her head ached.
The teen stepped to the edge, her toes hanging over nothing; but then...
Her feet scraped against the stone. She toppled. Her cry lost in the roaring storm.
Wind whipped her soaked hair and nightgown. Her seventeen short, painful years were over.
Thump. CRASH. Rrrrip.
Branches broke her fall and yanked her long dark hair, but every thump cracked against her bones, every twig digging into her skin. Flimsy fabric tore.
When her body hit the ground, her heart still beat. Thump, thump. Thumpthump.
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She struggled to bring air into her lungs, gasping quietly in the cool air. The downpour threatened to drown her and the mud threatened to swallow her.
Perhaps... it would be better if it did end that way; right here, right now. The thought occurred to her that it would accomplish her goal all the same. Escape. Escape. Escape.
Small cuts covered her arms, legs, and pale nightgown.
In the small keep, men and women shouted in panic.
Would it be better if there was no story to tell?
The girl paused to look at the welts swelling up around the bloody spots on her arms. It was a miracle that her bones were unbroken. Everything faded away for a moment. Again, she mouthed words to herself. 'Escape.' Her vision faded, but she could see. Her hearing was muffled, but she could still hear.
The sound of her name jolted her out of her trance and a gasp shook her body. She had to get away.
She had to escape before they finished their sweep of the grounds. Before they dragged her back to her room.
Struggling and scrambling to her feet, the girl took a shaky breath before taking off blindly into the woods. Sharp rocks pricked at the bottoms of her feet, but she preferred them to the stuffy dancing shoes she'd worn earlier that evening.
She knew not where she was going, only what she was running from: pain, terror, responsibility.
Away from the empty ballroom and the weight of her future.
The girl could not suffer the penalty for living as herself any longer.
So great was her fear that she ran until her sternum burnt and her shoulder blades cut into her back. Briars and thorns had cut her practically to ribbons. Blood leaked over her freely in several places.
She sunk to the ground, once again gasping for air and clutching her chest...
The young girl became very aware of the dark woods around her. Monsters lurked under cover of night, howling and snarling in the distance. A twig snapped near her. She could practically feel hot breath on her neck.
However, as she calmed and stayed still, the restless dark seemed to settle. Nothing jumped out to devour her helpless body. The pitted-patter of her heart slowed and her breathing calmed.
Starflies began to pulse once more, bioluminescent moss casting a gentle azure glow over her skin. A gentle singsong hum from nearby insects tickled her ears.
She'd really done it. She had escaped from her father's secluded villa. Runaway. She was now a runaway. Did she have a plan beyond that?
No, not really - her only real idea was to find her mother. Not that she had much to go on. Father was relentless in his denial.
According to him, her mother did not live. For insisting upon the truth, the girl had been beaten and deprived of food for five days. She simply could not understand why anyone would hold a funeral for someone that was still alive. She'd insisted the day of that they were wrong. Her eyes watered and she rubbed them with a muddy fist.
Her mother's death was a scandal in its own right. Not only that, but the daughter she left behind evolved into an idiot daughter with no sense of decorum or social structure. A pathetic excuse for an heiress.
Many phrases entered her mind as she recalled her failures. They flashed by as a dictionary of things one should never say to their child. Even though these things were obviously untrue, I know that she believed every word of disappointment he had ever uttered to her. I wish that she believed words just as easy.
'Dullard', 'Useless', 'Hideous'. Those were her names, stamped with a hot wax seal onto her heart. The names associated with her. The connotations that arose whenever she entered a room.
There was a hope in her heart, however, that her mother could offer solace. Wherever and whoever she was, maybe she was like her daughter. Different, ugly, and longing for freedom.
Feeling more than a little silly, the girl murmured, "Maybe I'm not so different?"
After a short rest, she stood up and continued at a more sustainable pace. Oddly, peace slipped into her heart. Moss lit up under her bare feet, its soft texture a reassurance and a welcome change to the dirt and rocks. The tenseness in her muscles melted away. While the stinging pain covering her body was ever present, it was overshadowed by this new emotion.
This temporary peace was broken, however, when she heard the sound of a search party shouting and combing the woods. Fear shook their voices.
Her heart rose into her throat. Ducking into a concave section of a hill, she covered her mouth to soften the noise of her breath.
She'd tarried too long.
To her horror, the search party seemed to be following a clear trail she had left. The orange light of lanterns appeared and trailed closer. Finally, it pierced through the veil of darkness and splashed over her bruised and battered body.
"She's here!" A man yelled. To her, he said, "Thank the sun!"
Just as she was about to abandon her hiding place, he said, "Miss Pridewalker, it'll be alright—" He was cut off by an odd gurgling sound in his throat.
A bloodcurdling scream cut the night to slivers.
Ember stared in horror.
The nameless individual fell to his knees. His lantern clattered to the ground. Flames spilled out of it and the forest came to life with a chorus of whoops and snarls. Mysterious shapes tore into the men and women who had come to save her from herself.
Petrified, the young teen pressed herself against the cold, moist stone. The search party was close enough for her to hear the shouting, crying, and tearing of flesh from bone. The screaming of what seemed to an unknown mystery creature nearly drowned it out, but the sounds caused the young woman to jerk her head to the left once and then twice, clenching her shoulders at the same time.
The young lady attempted to get a look at what was happening, but the chaos was too much. She could not comprehend it. Despite this, she could smell it. The metallic sting of blood. She could hear it. The crunching. She could taste it. The clogging smoke on her tongue.
Hoping against hope that monsters would not notice her, she decided she'd not fall prey. Pushing off the rock, she took off with renewed strength.
When the sounds faded, she allowed herself to slow. The girl tried again to collect her thoughts. Grabbing ahold of a thick, pulpy vine, she struggled up into a large tree. Lying on a bough, she gazed fearfully out into the forest. The ambient noises gradually returned.
Would there be a search party sent to look for those that came before? What of their families? Would they keep looking for her?
Everyone who had just died lived their own life and consciousness, they were important to themselves and to those in their lives. As she recalled the moment, the site of the guard that had seen here came to mind. The confusion and fear in his eyes as the life drained from him.
Hopefully, father would leave her for dead like he would those poor guards.
Like mother. The girl, just a tot then, had seen her mother leap from a balconey. She'd looked back to see her child for but a moment before leaping off into the darkness. She'd heard the sound of rapid steps as she sprinted towards the villa wall. The details were blurry; the only thing that stood out to her were the unusual burning red eyes similar to her own.
Why had father failed to look for mother? Why lie?
The whole ordeal left a bad taste in her mouth, even so many years later. Mother was alive and out there. Maybe waiting for her?
After some rest, she eased her way back to the forest floor. Her thoughts dwelled on the mother who had left her behind, but she knew only love for this mystery woman.
Little did she know, thoughts of her mother would soon be pushed aside by more pressing matters.