𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒪𝒻 ℬℯ𝒶𝒸ℴ𝓃 ℋ𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓈

Prologue

The day had started like any other. Wake. Get ready. Go to school. It was the end of the day that was different.

Nurses rushed around the cramped room, bright lights shining. The heart monitor beeped crazily for what felt like forever. I held my ten year old brother in my arms as tears streamed down my face. The beeping came to an abrupt halt, a deafening, dragged out sound coming from the machine in replacement. Stiles let out a sob as his knees buckled.

We fell to the floor together, my mind absent. I watched blankly as doctors hurried around the room for a few minutes before declaring her time of death. My arms fell loose and Stiles ran over to our mother, holding her cold hand in his tiny ones. My father was there holding my mothers other hand. I stood and wiped my tears, not daring to let go of my breath.

I burst out the hospital doors with tears falling from my eyes repetitively. My mother was dead, and my brother had to witness it. I collapsed, my knees hitting the cement. I yelled out in agony, receiving pitiful looks. They didn't understand. How could they? Their mother didn't just die in front of them.

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My mother had died a week before. I stood outside the church, a black dress clinging to my body. Mascara ran down my face as I walked in and sat down. I was seated in the front row alongside immediate family and close friends. Flowers were arranged carefully around the building, photos of Claudia Stilinski sat in the centre of the room.

Her coffin was made of dark wood, and flowers were laced into the sides. The priest stood at the front of the room with a microphone. My mother was well loved and almost half the town attended her funeral. The priest cleared his throat, silencing the crowd. He spoke as if he knew her, although she was not one of the church. I was certain he hadn't even met her.

The ceremony felt as if it was drawn out, the priest lingering in every word. Or was I the one lingering on his words? When my time to talk came I burst into tears again. My brother stood by my side and I pulled him close.

"My mother was a kind woman. She loved nature and all animals. My greatest memories of her were those of times spent examining the patterns of a butterfly's wings, or creating flower crowns made of the flowers we picked from our garden. I believe that when she died," my voice cracked. "A part of the world died too. Because since that day, those flowers we planted together, they died just as she did." Tears streamed my face so violently at this point that I had to take a break to compose myself.

"I will never forget the memories of her and all the things she has taught me. Nor will anyone who knew her." That was when I broke down into sobs. I sniffled and gave the microphone back to the priest before sitting back down. The day dragged on, and on, and on, until finally I was at home, sitting in the shower with the scolding water pouring onto my head and back before falling down. As did my tears.

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A storm had been brewing for a few days, rain only beginning to pour in the middle of the night. I was sat on the couch with a blanket wrapped around me and my new kitten purring in my lap. The TV was on although I hadn't payed it any mind. My eyes were focused on the trail of water running down the window. The droplets raced each other to the end and I found myself betting against which one would reach the bottom first.

Thunder cracked in the sky and the power cut off, startling my dazed self. I moved Nyx from my lap and stood, walking towards the window seat with my blanket wrapped around my shoulders, hanging to the floor. I sighed as lightning struck through the sky. I dropped my blanket onto the seat before lighting the fire. I gently placed a metal pot of water over the the fire before grabbing a book and waiting.

a cup of tea was made with the boiled water, but rather disappointedly, I reached for the cup and knocked it off the bench. I stuck my hands out in an attempt to catch it, but of course my ever clumsy self missed. the cup stopped mid-air, a green mist forming around it.

I gasped and pulled my hands back, the cup falling to the ground and the mist vanishing. I jumped back as glass shards sprayed towards me, implanting in my bare feet. Blood began to ooze from the tiny cuts as I cursed and hobbled to the bathroom. I removed the glass in a state of shock and panic. What was that? Where did the mist come from? Did I do that? These thoughts rampaged my mind, the cup of tea being completely forgotten.

"Who dropped a mug and didn't clean it up?!"