Clockwork Girl

Chapter 1: AIA

Three long casts of light pierced through the thin slits in the top of a steel door. My eyes, too sensitive to even candlelight on a good night, had trouble focusing. Shifting my gaze downward, I noticed a few things immediately.

I wore no shoes. My clothes were clean and white, a faint scent of lavender almost woven into the fabric. Two chains were around my neck, one long and gold, the other a shackle. There was a small key suspiciously close to my bare foot.

A-I-A

The letters flashed in my mind and I scooped up the key. It fit perfectly in the shackle and with the heavy click, I felt it come loose only to then hear it clank hard against the back of the wall. Of course my feet begin to work, my legs and knees shaking, as I make my way to the door. Running full force so my entire 80 pounds try to break completely free.

To my absolute shock, the door swings freely open and I stand in a field of tall Evergreen trees next to a well worn horse and carriage path. Sunlight trickles through the tree tops. No one is around and I try to figure out...what's my name? Where do I go? What am I doing...here?

Just beyond the trees and path, I can hear water. I do my best to get to the edge of it and stare down at my reflection, hoping something comes back to me.

I see her staring back at me. Bright blue eyes, fairest pale skin, strawberry blonde hair that is as straight as a pin. How do I know what a pin is but not my own name? She is skinny and small. I have no way to measure my height with the exception of that against an Evergreen and, really, is that going to determine anything at the moment?

I drank from the water with cupped hands and noticed my ring. A simple silver band on my left middle finger. It was perfectly set. No stones in it. No inscription.

After resigning to the fact that I didn't know anything about this place, I decided to follow the river upward from along side the carriage path. Soft grass here stopped my feet from colliding with rocks that seemed to rest in the pathway. Though I was thankful for it, it wasn't long until my legs began to hurt and cramp.

It wasn't overly warm and night began to fall when, just in my range of hearing, the sound of hooves and wooden wheels caught my attention. A traveler. Perhaps they could, at the very least, tell me what was a head, a town, a city. Anything.

And by luck, the carriage stopped.

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Perhaps it's foolish of me to have gotten into the carriage after the nice, very clean and impeccably dressed men inside offered to take me to what they referred to as The Fork. It sounded much better than where they did end up dropping me off; a little wooden sign with two arrows pointing in different directions.

To the left, Tulsea.

To the right, Woodsvale.

Neither place rang any sort of bells, so it was really up to me to determine if I wanted to continue walking and which general scenery I wanted to immerse myself in along the way. And so, of course, I chose to stay with the path of the river on the right.

Thicker, taller trees began to line the pathway. Taller gave way to massive to giant and then to unimaginable. The scent of apples became almost overwhelming as the sun seemed to plummet from the sky. Darkness had ascended just as I came into a clearing along a bend in the river. The air was a gentle temperature with a breeze that carried the scent of other fruits from further up stream.

With my feet and legs sore beyond imagining, I sat with my back against a smaller, younger tree trunk. The soft grass, the tinkling of the river, the chirp of some insect lulled me to sleep much deeper than I felt I had ever slept before.