Shattered Glass

Prologue

    When the turn of fall came around, the world continued to glow bright orange on the late summer mornings. Already, the leaves had shedded from the sanctuary of the dark, brown branches, loitering the floors with their many shades of hues. They rustled as the wind blew, soft and warm against the open fields. In the far distance, the sound of a piano echoed its tune, strung at a gentle melody. Perhaps one would wander, far and wide, until the outline of a small cottage came into view, the sound of the melody luring one in.

    Then, it stopped and all was still. The halt of the keys froze time, not a breeze to be felt, let alone a rustle to be heard. Slow and melancholy, the thin curtains of the patio windows fell back to its place, shielding the two figures, one tall and one short, from view. 

    The shorter figure clung onto the taller, a zestful smile on her face. "From where," she asked in the pure, pitched voice of a six year old, "have you learned how to play?" 

    She was hoisted, swept off her feet, by the latter. Her face was held close, the surface of her cheeks bright red from the blazing heat. The latter smiled, the strands of her hair gray, yet not a wrinkle on her pale face. Her eyes were moist, giving her hazel eyes a lighter color. "It was in a place far away, where mankind could not reach," the elderly replied.

    "Such a place exists?" the child squealed aloud.

    "It always did," she claimed, "for I've been there myself."

    "Won't you tell me the tales of such a place?"

    The woman smiled and held the child close. Lingering in the room was the scent of grass, freshly mowed upon early morning, when the dew was fresh. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she began the tale, "Once upon a time..."