The Lost Girl ✨Once Upon A Time✨

Prologue

   She did not belong here. Her very presence on the island was enough to make it come alive. The vegetation stood alert, like hairs on an arm when the wind whispers down your spine. It rejected her existence, her being, her soul if you would dare to believe that after all she had been through, it hadn't said 'Au revoir!' She was of a different kind, not different as for what the island had been waiting for, but different as in something unexpected and foreign that it couldn't quite make up its mind about. There were many aside from the island who, too, had noted the oddity of this stranger's presence.

   'I'm not supposed to be here.' The girl knew that if much of anything. She knew how wrong this was. She knew how dangerous it was even to consider being here. She knew she must have gone insane long, long ago. Yet, the state of her mental health was for once not a concern. Yes, she was insane, but that was old news. All she could focus on was the drowning sound of her heartbeat, overpowering her like a wave in the ocean.

   Her cheeks were already flushed into a brilliant red, and breathing strained as one could expect after running several miles, nonstop. Her tall, skinny figure could be narrowly spotted darting amongst the foreign species of flora. The oversized white shirt hung loosely against her body, and her feet were bare as she formed her path across the rocky ground. Her caramel hair whipped back and forth in the wind as she ran, and the girl brushed it away from her burning eyes. She couldn't have been here, but the pain in her lungs told her it wasn't her 'overactive-imagination.'

   Only moments ago would she have vouched her life as an uninterestingly normal tale, for which it truthfully was. All at once, her greatest dreams and her darkest fears had come spiraling down upon her like an avalanche. Wild howls of justifiably mad boys pierced the coldness of the night, sending shivers down their newest-prey's spine. She could feel any memory of this wretched land- that might help her- slowly draining from her mind; like water from a tub until all that remained was soggy, useless, bits and pieces.

   The girl's stride began to slow as the adrenaline rush faded away. She knew it would be impossible to keep up this pace much longer. She was no athlete, nor was she planning to become one anytime soon. The girl's limbs were frail with minimum muscle on them, and though her legs were long and naturally built for running, her stride was much smaller than that of a trained runner.

   Nearly doubling over and panting, she hazardously paused to observe the entirety of her mystifying surroundings. A variety of vegetation in various shades of greens and brown littered the ground for as far as her eyes could see. The patches of night sky between the leaves glittered with the mocking smirks of stars. Their gaze focused on her wavering form, waiting to see just how the girl would handle herself. Her eyes darted back and forth as the combined sound of the wind aggressively shaking the branches of the trees and the howls of insanity incircled her.

   The dense forestry could prove itself useful. A tree with a rather thick trunk caught her eye. It was likely dense enough for her scrawny body to seek cover behind. She didn't bother to check if it hid her before leaping into the trunk's shelter.

   Nobody would hear her so much as breathe as she pressed her back against the trunk and tucked her legs against her body. She determinedly clasped both of her own hands tightly over her quivering wide lips. Her arms shook, and the back of her head dug into the rough bark of the tree. Tears filled her eyes, but she wasn't sure if they were from fear, confusion, or joy.

   The pounding of feet against the ground and zealous wails for blood grew louder. If she had dared to look, which she didn't, the girl would have seen a group of two dozen boys or so enter the clearing. They were a rough and tumble group from the looks of them. Their thin, well-worn layers of clothing were coated in a mixture of mud and dried deep dark red stains that vaguely resembled blood. Some bore paint markings across their face, and most ran barefoot. The girl's own feet bore many cuts from attempting the same, but the others seemed unfazed by the effects. However different the boys may have appeared, they all shared two traits: none of them appeared any older than seventeen, and they all boasted weapons within their hands, angrily pumping them in the air as they ran.