(Prologue)
Earlpond was an island just off the coast of Western France. The origins of its name still unknown to this day - as if she had one day risen up from the turbulent currents of the Atlantic with the consciousness to name herself.
It was split (somewhat) into two by the River Marie. After briefly being utilised by the British in the late 1800s for political means. It was quickly left behind in the empire's advance into neighbouring countries during the infamous plight for power which tainted mankind. But little did they know of the magic that had tainted those who tread onto the island without an invitation.
With houses, manors, a harbour and lighthouse falling into disrepair, accompanied by the swift takeover of Gaia herself, a family of whom nobody had ever heard of but held a familiarity which couldn't be described, landed on the shores of Galena Bay. These were the Florans; a loving mother, absent father and young son. It appeared as though their presence ignited a further air of magic which had been hiding in Earlpond, and this sparked them in turn to transform the island into a haven.
They were quick to set up a small town they christened Crescent Bay and a handful of remote countryside houses with the help of their friends and anyone else who shared the same desires; all this for a select few they felt held pure intent to join them. Their aim? To create an island of dreams; a sanctuary where those with powers they were persecuted for could find relief; where war and violence was only an echo - a myth - from the past and people lived at one with nature.
For years, it lived up to the appellation - The Land of Dreams. Residents were joyous and money didn't make their world go round because their new currency was love and compassion. They worked well with one another like cogs in machinery and feuds were a thing that only existed in whatever history books they had left. Everyone lived harmoniously with the uncertainty of the wildlife and the respect that people had once lost for the Earth had restored.
But, of course, in any world a man walks, nothing ever lasts forever - not even in Earlpond. For chaos and destruction will always find their way through the cracks in human nature. The Florans, you see, became the beating heart of the community - and many say the island itself.
At first Earlpond was a place of peace, until the absent father finally lived up to his name - a self-fulfilling prophecy? Perhaps.
Some say it was because his love for the chaos which dwelled in cities swallowed his logic. Others say there was a sickening affair with a new woman that had one day washed ashore in a dress so white, all wives spoke of it. However, no conclusion explained why the basement of the Floran Manor was laced in blood of all geometric patterns possible.
It was as if Death expressed his artistic talent after years of boredom, derived from witnessing the alienating positivity of this land - which should never have existed in the world that it did.
His body was never found within the Floran's grounds and fear devoured many souls, hindering any idea of a search party. The people and the island itself soon became bleak and devoid of any colour. A type of sadness could be seen in people's faces, through expressions so distorted that their true emotions couldn't be determined; almost comparable to a disease.
Even the sun refused to shine and rain poured down in pales. Families had begun to quarrel and these quarrels rapidly developed into an abundance of "serious accidents".
Harassment, homicide and all other sorts of violence became potent in the air, and the absence of a police or authoritative force didn't aid the situation. The small numbers of those that decided to stay on the island rebelled against the Florans, setting their manor aflame. Blaming them for ruining the peace that once blessed them all.
Months turned into years and eventually only the mother and son were left behind the manor's walls. A rift formed between the two and forced one another apart, forging a cold stutter in the island's beat.
No one dared step foot upon Earlpond after hearing the horrific renditions of its story, told by those which departed. It is important to remember however, that you never left the island as the same person who arrived - any tale you told would never be understood by a foreigner.
The misted ambience of the land began its chemical task on the minds of those even with the smallest intention of migration - infusing them as if it were a drug.
By the 1930s, after the short reign of the Florans, it simply became rock in the sea - an abandoned land laced with dense woodland and collapsed homes. No one knew what happened to the mother and son and even their names had eventually been forgotten altogether.
Again, like the rumours of the father, more articles were written in French tabloids. These stories solidified the island's deterrence, no matter how greatly her mysteries fuelled the human curiosity.
For decades, its only inhabitants were wild deer, horses and other roaming wildlife. This was until the Voss-Fields fled from France in search of sanctuary; a safe place from the horrendous civil war of 1987 Their names being Sylvia and Noah Voss-Fields.
Arriving on a battered makeshift boat in Crescent Bay, they sought a small cottage a mile away from Clem's Lake in the South.. They were the first to construct a bridge which connected the two lands, now lying only several metres apart - separated by the shrunken width of the Marie River, now resembling a large stream.
In the decade succeeding their arrival came the birth of Valentina Voss-Fields. Described by their parents as a new light in an old world. Along with her spark which was cherished by Sylvia and Noah, came people - call it a miracle or coincidence, call it what you will, but this commenced the regeneration of a region forgotten and abhorred.
Couples searching for a new beginning from a world of injustice set sail despite its stories. An attempt to escape the air of rage which smothered the rest of the world. By the mid 2000s, both North and South had families turning houses into homes. Although these weren't the usual kind of people - it was a place which could never nurture those which fit in or desired to merge into the normal patterns and expectations of life.
Earlpond always held magic which was like a magnet to those who were spiritually gifted and a disease to those which weren't. Souls with powers no other human could ever imagine saturated the North.
These were people outcast by their former society who were now in search of a place which would finally accept and love them. Unfortunately however, for those who wished for time to roll back and for the original wonders of the island to be revived with this influx of newcomers, the life that Earlpond once birthed, failed to be resurrected - despite this new band of prosperity which bred hope.
Many, many books had been written on Earlpond, but due to the land's sinister stories, many hadn't been able to reach the public eye and shed light on the love that was still yearned for. The arrival of the Voss-Fields and their inevitable influence didn't seem to be enough.
Many myths rose over the recent years in the smaller mainland towns of France regarding the last of the Florans. No one knew of the family's true origins which further enhanced the essence of the unknown. Many of the 'Awakened' concluded that the lost son and mother were the key to growing back the nurturing environment Earlpond once had - both harbouring an energy within themselves strong enough to rekindle the sanctity of life.
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-Nessa ♡
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Through the Veil
Romance- a poetic novel - Valentina Voss-Fields was the quiet kind of girl who lived in a magical island known by the name of Earlpond. It was an land only the chosen could find, with a purpose that they only remembered when their minds pierced through the...
