My name is Brooke.
That's really all I can tell you. I've been on the run for four years. I'm no orphan. I have a family. A Mom, a Dad, and an older brother named Max. But I had to leave, I had to. I remember the night well. Lying awake at night, wondering why my limbs always seemed to ache all the time. I remember hearing a knock on the window sill, me going to open it. I remember the boy with the blonde hair.
How he told me who I was. I am an Ivorian. Ivorians are a race of special people born with bones made of pure ivory. The ivory contains magic. Scientists, and evil merchants, hunt down Ivorians for their limbs. Which they cut off, skin and sell. You must know who you are by age eight. Or face the consequences of internal bleeding, caused by the build-up of unused magic. Once you find out who you are, you must leave. I found out I was an Ivorian at ten. I am still alive because I am apparently stronger than others.
I can do things others can't. You must run away, and not look back. Your life turns into a flurry of running. We are Ivorians. But we are also known, as The Runaways.
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Runaways
FantasyThey are not orphans, they had families, they just had to leave them. Four years ago, Brooke found out who she was, from an encounter with a fellow Ivorian. Ivorians are being hunted by the worlds' scientists, while heading to a grand council meetin...
