The Mystic [Narnia F.F.]

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ p r o l o g u e ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

Everything was fine moments ago.

My mother was downstairs cleaning up the unsatisfactory aftermath of a mediocre supper. My father was lovingly stroking the furry feline beast, Maggie, on his sturdy lap. I was cooped up in my room; looking at the uncanny reflection that was staring back at me, copying my every nuance. Every sudden jolt of my right eyebrow, every confused squint of the eyes, every purse of the lips, every hair twirls; it never fails to imitate. I was oddly entranced at what I was facing; how could a sheet of reflective glass perfectly translate every pore and scar on my face? I look at myself, and only see a dejected girl who only longs for a purpose. Just your usual evening routine when you're Astridora Willows.

I almost forgot to mention the air raid bomb that directly hit our home; immediately killing my only family. But that part doesn't usually happen very often, I suppose? Maybe in some third-world countries it might, but not in the city of London. I used to live in America throughout my whole life, and moved here when I was 11 years old. It has been a year since I left America. It's funny, really, my family came here to avoid conflict in our home country, and ended up being ground beef after all.

I was perfectly fine, however. Maggie managed to escape from the burnt rubble of our home and scuffled her way up the remains of our staircase and into my fleshy arms. My whole body was covered with soot and scratches but no broken bones or exploded limbs or gashing wounds sighted on my shaken-up self. Miraculously, the bomb completely destroyed the other half of house and kept one side perfectly intact. Maybe some kind of divine providence? Nevertheless, I quickly ran outside, as I securely hold Maggie into my chest and into my wooden shed that had pretty much nothing in it. Just some junk we decided to keep but not worthy to be in the house. I sat on the concrete floor of the shed, with my knees pressed onto my body.

So, what happens now, you might ask? Do I go back to America and be put in an orphanage where I work prolonged, endless hours scrubbing immovable grout with a make-shift toothbrush that's also for personal use? Will I be drafted in the army, even though I'm a female minor who still doesn't know her whole Periodic Table or basic Geometry? Whatever it may be, my life is already set up to be miserable until I shrivel up like a grape under the sun, with yarn and knitting sticks intertwined between my wrinkled, paper-thin fingers.

I got startled from a sudden impact of our wooden shed door. Two British soldiers with huge backpacks, intimidating weapons that they possibly murdered thousands with, and turtle-shell like helmets that rested on their heads.

"Young lady!!" One of the soldier struggled to bend down on his one knee; his gear weighing him down on the ground, "Come with us! It's not safe out here!" He held out his hand and I hesitantly took it. The soldier put all his might to pick up my legs and carried me in his arms, as the other soldier carefully picks up Maggie from a corner she was hiding in.

But everything that happened after was a complete total blur. I was sat on a flimsy hospital bed in a rescue shelter with thousands of other city people grovelling in pain and despair. Blood spilled on the floor; a faint taste of metal coated my tastebuds. Fleshy bits scattered, parts of other people's face missing, detached fingers, newly amputees. It was like I stepped inside a war zone.

A nurse approached me with her clipboard in one of her hands, and a cup of water in the other. She flashed a cheeky grin at me.

"Hello, my dear." A soft spoken one, she is. Her calm demeanour relieves me as well. "How are you holding up?"

I couldn't find the right words to say, it felt like I was going to choke. I tried to sputter out a sentence, but I couldn't. Why? Did my parents' death really affect me? I should be happy that I'm still alive, but there was this heavy, unknown feeling I felt that I couldn't shake off. I was beyond paralyzed. My body went solid, as if I was turned into stone.