The Fyodor are hunted.
The Fyodor are killed.
The Fyodor are those who bear the gift of magic.
In the land of Ophelia, a cruel government rules with the main goal of eliminating magic. 16-year-old Aileen has only ever known the life of a refugee. Th...
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An identity was a privilege, not a right, at least that was what her mother always said.
Aileen was used to it by now, being invisible, being someone—or something—other than herself. Although she had a name, there were few and far between who knew it, and even fewer still that knew her story. Some days she was not even sure if she knew herself, the girl hidden beneath the mask of her stony face and ragged appearance. She was a shell of the girl she had once been, the girl who had laughed and played and simply loved life itself. Now, the remnants of her past dangled precariously from her throat in the form of a locket, a reminder of what could have been, forever haunting her.
Aileen clutched the locket tightly, the metal biting into the palms of her hands, as she was thrust into her past. Her memories were a blur, the edges of them fuzzy in her mind's eye, but there was one that stood out. It was a warning that she had carried with her for the entirety of her life.
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The sun cast a welcoming warmth on the child's face as she slowly inched her way up the willow tree, her body scraping against the bark as she got further and further up and the branches grew smaller.
From here Aileen had a clear view of the olive green woods below. She smiled as a gentle wind caressed her cheek and she took in her surroundings. In the distance she could see the billowing plumes of smoke rising from the chimneys of the small buildings scattered about. The village was a small dot of grey in the vast space. This piqued her curiosity, but not nearly as much as the voice.
Below her, she heard the faint notes of a song being plucked, and with it a shrill yet entrancing voice. The music seemed to grow increasingly louder and more dynamic the longer she focused in on it. The voice was angelic, the melody soft and lulling. The music made her shiver, goosebumps coating her little arms. Carefully, Aileen descended the tree, her movements much more rapid than her ascent had been.
Upon reaching the carpeted forest floor below, Aileen began to follow the lulling sound, her eyes wide in amazement as it sang a rich chorus. The voice was a welcoming whisper in her ear, inviting her towards it, a breathy laugh of promises,
"Come. Come with me," the voice cooed. "I know of a place with endless trees, an open sea, and buzzing bees." Aileen giggled.
A sea? she had never seen one of those before. She took a step in the direction of the voice and was met by a wonderful smell. The scent lingered in the air, a tantalizing temptation. It smelled of freshly baked bread, apple cider, pines, and ... home. Aileen drank in the sounds and smells greedily; they filled her with warmth from the inside out.
She had barely taken three steps in the direction of the alluring sound, when she'd felt a bruisingly tight hold on her wrist. Quickly turning around, Aileen was met by the stern gaze of her mother.
