Prologue

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Color.

A powerful form of communication. A way of wavering your thoughts, changing your actions.

A thing we don't realize is important until it's taken away from us.

I dug myself deeper into my cloak, trying to avoid the cold winds nipping at my cheeks.

Hurrying up the stairs to the old mansion, I opened the doors to a relieving warmth.

"Ah, Lydia Johnson. We were expecting you," a voice rasped. I looked around.

"Who's there?" I asked, my voice a bit squeakier than I wanted it to be. There was no reply and I slowly backed toward the mansion doors.

"Lydia, you know you can't avoid the future," a different, deeper voice said. I pulled the door handles, which didn't budge.

"You have no escape. What has to be done must be done." I walked further into the hall and began to climb the stairs. The steps creaked and dusty cobwebs lined the walls.

I had no control over my feet.

My shoes took me down several halls and finally led me into a room. It was furnished nicely, with a large bed and a portrait on the wall. A candle was lit in the far corner. I gasped.

Someone was here.

And that's when everything went dark.

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