The Mark Of the Nether (A Minecraft fanfiction)

REWRITTEN Prologue

A/N: Okay, here it is! Might have some typos because I was really impatient to get this out, but hey, that's nothing new. Seriously, if you guys like this, please tell me and then I can I actually make the new rewritten version of this.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The orphanage was silent apart from the clunky footsteps of the head matron. She looked like an apparition as she stalked down the corridors-- skin pale as a corpse, black hair pulled into a high bun so tight that it kept her head locked in place, constantly looking down her nose at the children. The matron's forest green eyes were dark and soulless, reflecting none of the light emitted by the oil lamp in her hand. Instead, that light was cast around her in an eerie, reddened glow; like a true being from hell.

This woman, although she hardly had any of the humanity that would classify her as human, let alone a woman, stopped abruptly in front of a lone door. The door itself was nondescript and barren, made for no other purpose than to lead to a hall closet. What was beyond the door, however, was much more significant.

After a brief pause, the sound of a crash and muffled shouts broke the moment. The she-demon, better known as Rosalyn, hurried to the source of the disturbance, no doubt already concocting a horrid punishment for the perpetrators.

As she left, sniffles could be heard from behind the door. In the hall closet, a small girl clamped down her teeth on her hand, struggling to stay quiet.

Walk away. Walk away. Walk away.

Only when Rosalyn turned the corner, did she finally start to breathe again. The five-year-old sat with her legs tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She tightened her grip as she heard the shouting from downstairs get even louder.

Sounds like... Rod.

Is he fighting? He's always fighting, isn't he? Always fighting for us.

Piper yawned and cracked her eyelids open, curling into herself to avoid touching the walls.

The closet was small and the floorboards were broken and rotting, with nails sticking out. But the walls were worse.

Dried blood was smeared in a few areas, some of it was hers, she knew. There were brown handprints scattered higher up and in the corner, hidden behind a thick coat, were lines carved into the concrete, each one marking a day. The first time she had discovered the concept of tally marking, Piper had etched them into the wall with a rusted nail she had found. It was yet another way she dealt with the boredom.

Something made a noise from a higher up shelf in the closet and she flinched.

And fear. Can't forget the fear.

Piper tightened the grip her arms had around her legs and buried her face in her knees.

"Piper?"

A soft voice came from the other side of the door and Piper's head snapped up. The only other sound to break the heavy silence was that of a lock turning before the door swung open.

Cloaked in darkness, a small figure with large emerald green eyes stared down at the older girl. A set of keys was clutched in her right hand, the left harshly scrubbing budding tears off her face.

The most distinct feature of this person, however, were the scruffy grey wolf ears that were poking out through caramel hair.

"Micha..." the five-year old got to her feet, shaking her hair so it covered the nasty bruise on her cheekbone, "You shouldn't be here–"

Piper barely got the sentence out before Micha barreled into her. The girl held her as if Piper would disappear the second she let go.

"Brick was in my room, again." Micha, usually so composed for a three-year-old, started hiccuping with tears, "He pulled my hair, a-and started throwin' things at me, Rod c-came in b-but I-I, h-he, I can't-"