The Songs Of The Flames (The Curse Of The Thirteenth Series)

Chapter 1

17 years later

Priscilla awoke dreading the day to come. Seventeen years here-another year of hoping she would get adopted. Deep down she knew her time was already up. No one would adopt a teenager almost to adulthood. In a year Mrs. Wilex would hurl her into the world with what little she had of money. She was unsure whether she would go to college or stay at her low end job forever. She didn't really have money for college, but she could always take classes at the local community college. She was afraid and with no parents to guide her she was lost as well.

Throwing back the blanket, Priscilla jumped out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cold wood floors of her bedroom. Priscilla tiptoed to her small dresser in the corner where she kept what clothes she possessed. The other children would still be sleeping.

What would she do today for her birthday? There would be no party to celebrate the event. She had work at the restaurant later in the day, but it was only 7:00 AM. Of course, Mrs. Wilex will still require her to do her studies, even if it was her birthday. It was her special day, but it felt like any other day. Her birthday always felt wrong. She put it off as not having a family to celebrate with, but deep down she felt like something tragic happened on that day too.

When she was younger she would draw pictures of what she imagined her birthday would look like if she had a family. She would spend her birthday drawing herself in front of a birthday cake with a mom on the left, and a dad on the right. She would imagine having a sister or brother who would blow out the candles before she could, but as she got older the thought of a family of her own grew less and less. She felt unadoptable. It wasn't like she was a troublesome child or difficult. She just was different, and people sensed that. All her life people avoided her. 

Priscilla retrieved a long sleeve black shirt and a pair of worn jeans from her dresser. She pulled her long black hair into a ponytail. Even with her hair up, it went down to her waist. She refused to cut it, loving to hide behind the dark strands. She applied a little makeup in her small mirror. Gold eyes stared back at her from the mirror, almost looking like pools of honey. She had inherited those eyes from someone. Was it her mother or father?

The hallways outside her bedroom were still quiet. She carefully avoided the creaks in the old floorboards. Years ago she had memorized each floorboard that creaked in this house. The building was slightly chilly this morning, the night had dropped into lower temperatures last night. The old furnace was probably out. Earl, the old man that maintained the house was most likely slacking again. Earl was a gentle man, but he drank too much and often was found sleeping after a night of over indulging. She directed her route towards the basement door.

The basement matched the rest of the building. Built in the 1920s, the basement was simply a hole beneath the structure of the place. The floor was dirt and the walls were just rocks. A shelf lined one wall, filled with Mrs. Wilex's cannings. Another room to the left held Earl's office and tool room. The man slumped in his worn wooden stool. The lamp above his head flickered on and off with a light buzz. From where Priscilla stood she could smell the reek of alcohol pooling off of his body. From where she stood, she could see a few bottles lining the floor by his feet. One foot was shoeless, his shoe at the bottom of the stairs beside her.

Priscilla walked past Earl's office to the furnace straight ahead. Cord wood lined the wall beside the furnace. The furnace stood dormant, almost seeming like it had been out all night. She sighed and grabbed a box of matches and kindling off a shelf. Her fingertips felt chilled from the cold basement air, and it took her a couple of tries to light a match. Behind her, she could hear the heavy snoring of Earl in his office. Eventually, she managed to strike one match.