Alma LeFay Peregrine

Prologue

  Hugging my svelte frame, the crimson velvet laid nicely over my smooth skin and adorned my copper tresses and blue eyes.  Even under all the layers of eye makeup and lipstick, I knew I looked glamorous for this night.  While the neckline was modest, pearls cascade down the front of my mermaid-shaped gown, about halfway to the slit that ran up to my knee. 

  Even though I was on a vacation and had nearly no time to pack, I felt magical.

  Spraying the last of my hair in the bathroom mirror, I swept my glasses and phone into my purse.  I may look splendid tonight; my vision is utterly terrible without my glasses or contacts. 

  "Caw!  Caw!"
Craning my neck, a large bird rests on the motel window, its elegant black feathers fluffed up.  Sharp talons tap against the window, while its shimmery beak continues screeching. 

  Annoyed, I run to the window and acknowledge the falcon, but only then do I notice the ripped up parchment on the windowsill.  It's about the size of a small photo, and blotches of black and gray bleed through the thin parchment.

  Slowly reaching my hand out, the falcon retreats back into the gloomy, daunting forest, leaving the parchment. 

  Picking up the parchment, I discover that it is, in fact, a photograph of a woman standing in a doorway.  With all the shadowing in the photo, she's unrecognizable in the face, although her skin seems nearly as pale as my own, and she looks to be a little taller than average.  Trimmed and curled into a bob, a spring of her dark hair defiantly sticks straight up, and she's fully clad in a dark, vintage jacket and skirt.  Holding a tobacco pipe, her posture is strict. 

  Beautiful, but a stranger nonetheless. 

  Curious, I place the photograph in the front pocket of my purse.  Perhaps this is someone else who works on the island?

  Gathering my purse and scarlet high heels, I leave the undersized motel room. 

  The island, a desolate, abandoned strip of land off the coast of Wales, welcomes me with an abundantly colored sunset, contrast to the normal gray skies.  The population here is sparse, with just enough people to run a tiny town with a motel and pub.  Crimes here are at an all time low because of this, with the suspects being obvious and having no escape routes. 

  I'll just walk to the pub.

  As the gravel crunches under my feet, I turn to the sunset.  From the past two days, I've observed that Wales doesn't seem to get much sunlight; making the stream of reds and pinks playing out in front of me more spectacular yet.  Somedays, small charms in the world like these are what gives me hope.

  Something hard hits the back of my head.

  "Ay, you're a pretty little lady, aren't ya?"

  Whipping around, a man in his twenties with a baseball bat and a mischievous grin smirks at me.

  Panicked, I knee him in the crotch, and reach my long arms up to strangle him, but I'm too late.  He's already swung at my face, and an audible "thud" comes with the blow of another hit, which causes pain to sear throughout my entire skull and bring me to my knees.

  On the ground, all I can do now is scream.

Quickly, he puts a gag on my mouth, and takes another swing at my face. Lights twisted and swirled in my vision, and I can only make out the dark, creepy forest he's dragging me into. Gravel scrapes my now bare back, drawing more blood with a sting, and I can see a minuscule red blur in the distance.

Shreds of my dress.

I tried to scream through the gag again.

Instead of another blow to my head, the man pulls my right shoulder with immense force, forcing it out of its socket with a tremendous burst of deep, powerful pain shooting through my body.

I went limp, tears in my eyes as I watch the looming forest's trees through what little sight I have left. Light fades out of my vision, replaced with dark circles and blurs.