MELANCHOLY.

prologue

( THE PROLOGUE )

'Twas the night of late August that the young child of the extended family had grown her own set of sabel-feathered wings that she could only describe as her escape from her hell crumbling reality. Where loyalties stood, her own trust and patience was bottled up beside the glass and transparent jar on the shelf of abnormal traits. Although cracked and scratched at, it was still there, stood against the others. Her parents would rarely ever enjoy checking up on her during the summers. That was one thing which she didn't care so greatly about. In fact, she treated it as though it was a blessing. Afterall, she would hate for any of them to be responsible for the death of Charlotte.

The sight would be too painful for her to even use the time to grieve. Unlike the majority of her own friends, the girl was a muggle. She did not inherit or even carried a spark of magic within her own bones. She was not as bothersome as the others when it came to befriending others with impurity running through the bodies or rather what rumours had to say about them. Because as she liked to tell herself, 'What rumour takes a part in deciding your fate?' The words were stitched to the back of her mind like the staining mark that was printed on her forearm. Rumours to those who start them are like the mice of the snake's pit. They were bound to be eaten up the minute they are brought out for sight.

She thought of how suitable it was for her to use a snake for the analogy.

The starry night held hopes and dreams that both had come to terms with not being able to reach, the cool breeze pushing the the points of each grain of grass to their exposed skin. A black cat had made its way in between the two girls whilst the blonde had continued to stare into the black sky, unable to speak any words that she knew were bound to hurt the girl. Hell would break loose if she ever found out.

"It's a shame that we're going back to school again," Mariella says and wretches out a handful of grass, only for her to let it blow with the wind. "I was hoping that we could at least talk for a little while longer before I head back to my boarding school." She was infuriated by the lies that stained her tongue. Mariella would have expected that she could at least be able to tell one of her most trusted friends about a secret that had consumed and taken host of the majority of her own life.

"Yes," Charlotte replies and bites down on her bottom lip. "I do find that it is a shame. I have yet to complete most of the homework the teachers had set for us over the holidays."

"But it's probably the only way they can confirm that what they're teaching." Mariella watched Charlotte grimace and reach over to push her shoulder. "Do I sound too much like my mother?"

"I wouldn't know considering I've never met her before," Charlotte replies. "But you do sound a lot like my mother. No wonder she favours you more than me."

Laughs were shared that night, the sweet sound of happiness and smiles that seemed to inspire the small bursts of light and luminous debris of sunlight to light the nations above them. However for most of it, Mariella had watched the way the blonde would bite down on her lip whenever she would make as much as a movement to speaking. The actions struck nerves leaving the dark girl and she could do nothing but wait for the answer.

But she never did get the answer.

In fact, the thought had never once left her mind. Through the painful hours spent with her grandmother burning marks into her skin, the merciless screams for her to become determined into improvement and the disgusting retorts of being born to become a filthy blood traitor, Charlotte's worries had never seemed to leave her mind. She would have preferred to keep it to herself knowing that the most high scenario would be the fact that her mother would cry at her long lasting friendship with a muggle.

The school year had come no quicker than she had expected and she had made no hesitation in visiting the Dunne residence for a possible explanation for the thought that ached to be answered. She knew that if she was not to ask now, she would most likely never be able to get the answer she wanted.

Hollow steps trailed behind the girl draped in black clothing as she made her way up the first floor. The house had unusually been too quiet for her own safety. She calls out her name for what seemed to be the fifth time until she comes to the conclusions that she had not been inside the house. And considering that no one had decided to scold her for coming in unannounced, her parents had been absent in addition.

The faint cries and ragged gasps that had left her mouth seemed to have been the sound that awoke many of the birds resting against the under nourished trees and twigs when her black eyes settled on the scene laid out in front of her. Blood dripped from the walls, drenched the nearby carpet and painted the victims like what she would have thought to be an accident.

And as unfortunate as it had seemed, she had never been able to answer her question.

Because Charlotte Dunne was dead.

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authors note: I feel like I should really stop shaming my writing. It isn't like there is anyone here to possibly write something to hate against it. Anyway, the prologue is as short as it should be because why not and I thought .... why not start the story with a death? I don't know why depressing stuff like that seems to inspire me.

The person who killed them will most likely be one of the most obvious things that any of you could solve so please enlighten me with your guesses. As usual this book will probably not get updated since I start too many stories that I don't even finish! Yay brain!