Prologue

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Darkness.

Cold.

Hard stone.

Frosted bars.

That's all my world has become for the last...

I don't know. Time is difficult here. I can't even tell if the sun has set or risen. The only thing consistent about the time are the meal deliveries: about once a day, consisting of stale bread, dried fish, and some sort of rotten-tasting green.

The cell's tiny rectangular window covered in frozen metal bars provided the only light— a cold bluish hue that was too weak to reach the shadowy corners of the cell. I huddled in one of these corners, wrapped in the only ragged blanket they provided me.

This is how I live, now. No longer am I free. No longer can I run carelessly through beautiful spring meadows. No longer can I hear anyone's voices besides the prison guards' and the general's.

And I feel my hope slipping away.

The Girl From the Never Realm (l.garmadon)Where stories live. Discover now