Prologue
It was cold. Colder than cold. As the frozen wind blew across the Arctic terrain, snow was carried in swirls and appeared to be almost mist-like. In the farthest reaches there was nothing but moving snow drifts and layers and layers of ice upon which the snow danced and floated. No one came here, as it was full of nothing but frigid temperatures and a barren, frozen wasteland. However, some people from the nearby Land of the Singing Sands would sometimes gather the only resource the domain sometimes contained. Black Onyx. Rich in the ability to be sculpted into beautiful Darke-esque treasures and carry the Darke better than any other mineral that is, except for glass.
The nights in this land were always frigid, stormy, and cold. Usually nothing out of the ordinary happened, except for the rare instance of late night onyx collection, or trying to discover something that could reside deep under the snow. But nothing was ever under the snow. Or the ice for that matter.
Until that night. That fateful night when everything changed.
The land was cold, and frozen as always, but the winter gave the wind an extra nip, and the sky extra snow. It was also dark, but the winter night was made longer by the fact that it was indeed the longest night; The Darkest night of the year. Two figures scuttled around in the snow, hoping to discover something other than more ice and onyx. They would scrape away the flakes in patches away from the ice and peer down into its depth with the assistance of a lantern. So far, they had been out there for hours with no luck. Just ice that contained nothing but emptiness.
"Whoa. Wait a minute, Irim, look at this. I think I found something."
His companion, Irim, sighed.
"You have said that twelve times already, twelve. Most of the time it is nothing but a dead rodent. I am sick and tired of dead rodents, Mason." She huffed.
"This is not dead rodent." He said, in almost a whisper. Something in his voice implied that it wasn't another dead rodent, and Irim came running. She kneeled down on the ground next to him and gasped.
Because frozen under the ice was a girl. She had skin that was translucent, and like china painted white, with ebony hair. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelinds and lips where tinged a light purple. She wore a long, sleeveless dress that was purple and white, with streaks of black. On her feet were black flats with long ribbons that tied up her legs. She was impossibly beautiful, but carried a sinister air about her as the two explorers stared.
"What should we do?" Irim whispered.
"Get her out, or course!" Mason exclaimed. Irish was hesitant. That . . . thing was in there for a reason. And she was pretty sure that it should not be let out.
"No. It can't be." She whispered to herself. It had just clicked in her head what she, it, was. It could not come out of the ice. That would spell cha-
Irim's thought was severed by a stabbing, scraping sound. It was Mason, clawing at the ice with a pick. He was almost there.
"No!" She screamed. "Mason! No! Don't!"
But it was too late. Black mist flew up from the hole in a mushroom cloud, and some of it curled out of the hole and slid across the ice in tendrils. Mason's body was crumpled off to the side like a dropped marionette. And there it was, standing on the precipice with a smirk on it's porcelain face with huge white wings upon which every feather faded from white to black.
It was far too late. Because Symphony LeCloud was free.
It was free.