Hamartia

*Prologue: Riverbed*

Slow Dancing In The Dark by Joji (Lennie listened to this on an hour loop as she wrote and rewrote this.)

Prologue: Riverbed

Her lips were as blue as the azure shade of the sky during day time. But it was night now, and the sky was dark. Her lips opened and she breathed, slowly, in and out. Her fingers reached out as a last resort, hoping that someone would find her before she passed away.

And her skin began to take on a grey pallor as she realized no one was coming.

No one was coming to save her.

There was an unnatural aura gathering within the copse of trees, which hung over the child and her body, bidding goodbye to the world she'd grown up in. But the goodbyes she wanted to say ended up frozen in the tears that fell from her eyes as they began to blur in pain and regret.

The aura left the leaves a muted ochre and russet in their phenomenal death.

Someone had been here.

The reaper of souls had been here.

He hadn't taken hers.

Her eyes watered, and her breaths turned from pants, to whimpers, to expressions as she tried to hold onto her life. Ultimately, she knew she was losing the battle.

Her head hurt.

If only she could close her eyes, maybe everything would be okay.

Her lips were a dark cobalt blue. They only spoke of the events prior without having to form many words, blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. It tasted of iron and salt as it mixed with her pain, and her growing rage. But all she could do was whisper.

She had no energy to call out for help.

She breathed out her last breath, and slumped backwards, her pupils expanding as her muscles relaxed.

All that whispered to her in the back of her head, were the minerals in the water as they carried traces of her blood downstream. The water trickled, glistening silver as it caught the little light that shone near her. It was the only living thing that dared to go near her, that made her look as if she was still alive. The clear liquid that glinted metallic as the taste of her blood that ran over her inky black hair soaked in her family's loss. Her clothes clung to her body, drenched in the muddiness of the ground where she had slipped, and she had fallen, and stained with the blood that she'd had on her hands.

Her hands were red.

Her fingers were red with anger and rage and disappointment and regret and... blood.

She'd never get to say 'sorry' to her sister.

She'd never get to hug her brother.

She'd never get to do so many things again.

Her eyes watched – glassy and blind. Her eyes were two slow burning candles blown out in the darkness. Candles fragrant with the scent of livelihood and child-like wonder. Her life was reminiscent of an old fairy-tale. Melancholy and now, bitter.

Her death was beautifully brutal, and solemnly sorrowful.

Her eyelids flickered open and closed, like clockwork.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

Her eyes lay like dark jewels in a porcelain masterpiece. Shining, from time to time, frozen in time – they told a story that she hoped someone would be able to read. Yet she was forgotten from time; she would lie there until the sun rose again.