Soulwriter

Soulwriter Ch.1

"All I do is kill things, why was I born with this corrupted power? Why?"

Those were the words that I thought when I was 5 years old, when I witnessed a hit-and-run accident that took a man's life.

To this day, I still remember "the accident", the blood spreading across the cement, a crimson river flowing out of that man's body.

I still remember faint shouting in the distances, the screams resounded through the air... I still remember how my cat purred and snuggled up to me, it's life once again revived, while someone else paid the price. The man had died so I could have another one of my selfish wish granted.

I could still remember seeing it through my hollow eyes, was that repeating image... the man that I had killed, and the black words scribbled in my diary... "The kitten died. I don't care what happens. I just want my cat alive again. I don't care what happens." Well, my dreams listened, and carried out my wish.

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My name is Laurelelle Marie Rosewood.

Yet, even with a pretty name, and a pretty face, I don't know who I am. I don't know what I was born for, and even now, 8 years from that incident, I am still not able to control my powers.

I had discovered ever since a young age that I could make any wish of mine come true, just by writing it down while absorbing all that was around me into my words.

Whatever I wrote down then would come true, yet in return, the things around me would die, flowers would wilt, and birds would stop singing.

I was robbing souls from living things. Yet I never really cared, because I would then get what I wanted, no matter if it was candy, or a new book, those meaningless material things would appear, as something else died.

Never really cared, until that incident.

That day, my cat had died, and in one last desperate attempt to bring it back to life, I had wrote my wish with my power inside my journal, write there on the sidewalk. And the man had died.

Killed in an instant hit-and-run "accident". Because of me.

Ever since I could remember I have been living with my wealthy widowed grandmother. She is gifted with special abilities, like me, and we are called Dreamers. That is because our powers come from the dream buried inside of us, and that is where all Dreamer magic come from - our deepest born selves.

And once again, I closed my eyes, as I looked back 8 years, on the day where my questions were answered:

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"All Dreamers are born with a special birthmark," explained my grandmother, already expecting a dazed 5 year old to fully comprehend everything she said.

"Like this?" I interrupted her, with big questing eyes, as I lifted up my sleeve, exposing the blue rose entwined with a ring of black thorns encircling like a bracelet around my wrist, with a crystal teardrop hanging from the rose petals.

"Yes that is what I mean, if you can find your "name", that birthmark will be the source of your power, and then you will be able to fully control your powers."

"How? Why?"

"Because then you can understand your "true self", and understand the purpose of your Dream, controlling your heart is required for you to control your powers."

"Will it stop me from killing things?" such an innocent question.

"Yes, yes it will." And at that instant, there was an unexplainable, yet determined look in my grandmother's eyes.

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I blinked my eyes open as I came back to reality, brushing my midnight-coloured hair that went past my waist. The glitter of my pendant caught my eye, and looking into the mirror, I stared at my own piercing blue eyes, my fingertips laid on the cold glass as I stared into those icy blue orbs. I shivered, it amazed me how sometimes things could look so real, but not even exist, it was as if behind that glass, there was another me.

I turned around, clutching my pendant, remembering when 8 years ago, I had received it from my grandmother.

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"It was your father's first gift to your mother, and she wanted you to have it,"

My grandmother had this unexplainable look in her eyes, her unwavering gaze never faltering and she continued,

"Before she died, she had it set in another silver necklace, attached with a winged charm."

She fastened it on for me as I stared, mesmerized in the gem's lustre, the hues switching from amethyst purple to turquoise green, an Alexandrite.

A gem where two colours existed in one confinement, co-existing, and even if their delicate prison it breaks, they will still be forever intertwined. I turned the gem around, and carved into the delicate silver were my initials L.M.R.

Grandmother smiled "She was sorry that she couldn't be with you," I looked up, and only then did I see the sadness gracing her wrinkled features.

I laid the other delicate charm in my hand, it was my mother's birthmark symbol, a wing surrounding the sun.

I looked up at her old, yet youthful face, looking at that faint ghost of a smile, at those far-off eyes.

And was that a tear I saw?

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I fingered the pendant over my palm, the chain slipping through my fingers.

I wonder if she --- my mother had the same problems I did?

Losing control of her powers, becoming unable to use them..... Dismissing the thought, I worriedly pressing my brand-new uniform for any wrinkles. I held my head high and raised my elegant neck just to feel my peacock feather earrings brushing against my neck.

I did a double check for my book bag, my fountain pen, and my journal.

And today was my first day of school.