NOCTURNE

PROLOGUE

Tw: death, fire, suicidal thoughts, funerals

Despite the cold fog that enshrouded them, the residents of Kaszanka continued their march along the twisted path that led to the top of słony wiatr : the tallest hill that could be found on the Scélène island.

Each member of the cortège was cladded in thick, long black robes that reached the ground. The women wore black veils over their weeping faces, and the men hid their sorrowful expressions under large black hats. All of them were chanting softly while their gloved hands clenched over small candles.

Once the small procession arrived at the top of the hill, they were greeted by the view of an endless meadow of wild grasses. An oceanic wind blew widly over the vegetation, bending it in every position imaginable and covering them with an invisible saline layer.

In the middle of the meadow was a lonely, small, red church.

The edifice was small, windowless, and coated with a washed out red paint. Standing still, with its tower's pointy roof a bright shade of scarlet, the church looked less like a place of worship, and more like a giant, bloody thorn that sprouted from the depths of the earth.

It felt lonely. Foreboding even. Especially today.

A small cough escaped Luna's throat. The walk had been difficult for the young girl : her breathing was heavy and loud, often interrupted by painful fits of coughing as her whole body shivered from the cold.

But none of that mattered to her. The cold, the coughing, and the aching pain in her right leg. Those had all an understandable origin. They existed, physically, and were reflected on her body.

But the pain she felt in her heart was not discernable, it was intangible and unfamiliar, and yet, that was what hurted her the most.

She needed to be sure she wasn't dreaming. Since she had woken up, with her leg all bandaged and her throat desperately parched, she had felt so disconnected from herself and the people around her that she wasn't sure she had really woken up. She needed to make sure.

And so she walked in a daze, without a word escaping her painful throat.

When the young girl finally arrived at the top of słony wiatr, the mourning villagers were already in front of the church. Luna made her way toward the procession, trying her best not to trip on any hidden rock hidden under the lush blades of grass.

As she was stomach-deep in the vegetation, she suddenly felt her legs slumping. The young girl instinctively crossed her arms in front of her head, and prepared for the impact. But just as she had closed her eyes,  a firm grip on her shoulder held her back.

She opened her eyes and blinked a few times: she was standing straight, her fists clenched under her head. A ticklish sensation ran along her legs as the wild grass danced under the wind. The saline breeeze of salt filled her mouth and made her eyes water. Had she been dreaming all this time ? Luna couldn't really tell or remember.

She turned around, and stared at a young girl with messy golden locks ; the daughter of the head priest, and Luna's childhood friend, Myrthe, was holding her firmly by her shoulders. Her head was down, and her breathing was difficult. After a few moments, the panting girl lifted her head slightly, revealing a pair of prairie green eyes and a beet-red face.

"Ahhh... Ahhh... I... Finally... Caught... Up..." The girl managed to utter, panting. "We... Were supposed... To go... Together..." She concluded, as an expression of anger took over her gentle features.

"I'm sorry Myrthe... I... I... Didn't realize." Luna panicked.

"You are still recovering, Luna !" Myrthe finally shouted, "You could have fallen off the cliff !"