prolouge

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Whispers.

They were always there, rattling around in her head when she was in the hospital, on a full moon, when she went to bed.

Voices. Telling her things about people she didnt know, telling her stories of ancient beasts she wasn't sure still walked the earth.

Why were they telling her these things, how did she make it all stop?

She couldn't take it one night. She woke up from her light slumber, careful not to wake her boyfriend as she escaped from his arms and headed for her room window.

She needed some air, some time to think, thats it. The voices would stop eventually.

Right ?

But as she climbed down her window, in her sleeping shirt and shorts, a pair of old Converses, her feet seemed to take her somewhere her head had no recollection of knowing.

The girl didn't seem to realize she had been moving at all, she hadn't seemed to realize she had walked further and further away from her neighborhood, her feet taking her deeper and deeper into Beacon Hills.

If you asked the girl what happened that night, how she ended up there, she wouldn't have been able to tell you. She couldn't remember any of it.

It was like a trance, something her friend with strawberry blonde hair had been through before.

All she could remember was when she woke up, she was in the woods.

Sitting atop a huge wide tree stump.


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