A Shore of Corpses

- Prologue -

(For context this is set in a world before technology btw, Incase anyone gets confused. So it may actually appear to have 1900's vibes. Hope you like it, this is only the prologue!!) 

The morning of my fifteenth birthday, I awoke to the sound of birdsong filtering in through my open window. 

Sunlight streaked into my room, casting long finger-like rays across my Oakwood floorboards, dancing across them as my red curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze. 

I groaned, unable to muster the motivation to crawl out of under my warm, cozy white bedsheets and into the unforgiving coldness of my room, due to my lack of closing my window. But eventually, I managed to summon the strength. Swinging my legs out, I gingerly placed the, on the floor beside my, also wood, bed. 

You see, where I'm from, most things are made of wood. If not all things, perhaps. I'm from a fishing village on the outskirts of the Fjord planes, beside the sea. Ironically, I've never had much of a taste for fish, or any seafood for that matter, preferring other meats and garden vegetables.

I stepped out of my bed, stretching my arms above my head and turning to stick my head out my window. I looked down from my room on the second story down into the cobblestone streets. People were already up and about, some with carts or baskets, others merely going for a walk. The neighbours across the street were hanging out their washing on the line in their small front yard. Down below I heard my mother beating our living room rug on the pavement before calling up to me. 

"Morning, Sophie!" My mother called, her long, curly black hair and hazel eyes a mirror of my own as she beamed up at me with her iconic dimples. "Happy birthday!" 

I waved in response, retuning her smile. 

"Thanks mum." I replied, watching her return to the rug ordeal. A wind picked up, blowing her dress around a little, and making me shiver with the sudden frost bitten chill. Lucky me, living by the sea and having to put up with the cold wind. That was sarcasm, I'm terrible in the cold. 

I turned around, shutting my windows and pulling the drapes over the glass before picking out my favourite outfit from my closet. A white button up shirt, a black vest to go over it and a pair of Khaki horse riding pants. I planned to meet my friends at the library this morning to hang out. With a glance at the clock I read it as '8:21 am'. I'd have to be there soon. With the sudden realisation that if I didn't get moving I'd be late,  I slipped on my black shoes. I grabbed a book from my closet Mark had asked to borrow as I burst out of my door and pushed it shut behind me without even checking to see if I had closed it properly. I ran down the hallway outside my room, heading left, straight to the stairs. I hopped down them with record speed. I was clutching the book with a hand as I waved to my mother, now inside along with the rug, and my father, who was languorously lounging on the sofa in the living room. 

I rushed a quick farewell as I smiled excitedly, rushing out the front door and into the bustling street. Across the line of yard between our house and the street, my feet danced over the cobblestone path to the road.

On my way to see my friends Mark, Lilian and Samuel at the library in a few minutes, I hadn't the slightest idea of how much my life was going to change that week.