A/N This chapter is solely 'The Ice Within's' A.K.A. Icy's work, this whole chapter! I'm D, on to the story!

Prologue

The prison was dark and silent- eerily so. The only sounds to be heard were the slight shuffling and clangs of metal against metal every now and then. The dim candlelights flickered slightly in their plates, giving just enough glow to allow you to see the ugliness and cruelty of the place.

The walls and floor of the prison was rough and cold, sharp edges of the stone jutted out of the walls, making sleep and comfort hard to come. Trickles of blood were seen everywhere, as if every single prisoner didn't give up before getting into a fight with the prison-keepers – and obviously they had lost badly. They were no matches to the carefully chosen, bulky men standing stiffly in front of every prison door, alert of their surroundings. Anyone found talking or trying to escape would be whipped mercilessly by the Keepers and thrown back into a cell with higher security and rougher surroundings. Everyone knew that there was no escape.

Those who went in never came out.

Screams pierced the village; sobs were heard from within the poor cottages, begging for mercy and yelling for help – but to no avail. Unknown to them, the Killers were merciless, some even said heartless – they left no survivors, and they never failed a given mission by their Boss – and this was no exception.

One by one, the villagers fell to the ground, dead. Their pale faces beamed in contrast with the dark, black cottages arranged in neat circles around the village. It was bloody; it was terrifying, yet the Killers' faces showed no emotion – there wasn't a sign of sympathy or kindness, but there wasn't any relief or triumph either. They didn't feel; they weren't humane, that was what was so scary about them – the lack of human characteristics from them. But Poker Face was bits of an understatement – do Poker Faces have the Death Glare? Or an Evil Aura that seems to surround it? No. But these Killers' faces were scarred and full of hatred, even though their faces were emotionless, you could see it through their dark eyes when they made eye contact – and that was what I saw.

Perhaps that second of understanding I got through the eye contact before the Killer lowered his knife saved my life.

That was five years ago; I was a young six-year-old then.

Chapter One, Red.

Run, she screamed to herself, push away all the emotions, the longing, the nostalgia, the love, the grief and run. Run for my life.

She didn't feel the pain; she was hollow. She didn't feel the sadness; she was empty. She didn't regret leaving everything behind; it was her own choice. Choice, she laughed humorlessly, as if she had any. She didn't give herself time to think, to dwell on what she was doing. Her mom always told her to 'think before you act', but her mom wasn't here anymore – she's dead. All of them were – the father that she hated, the elder brother that disappeared when everything happened, and her loving mother who cared for her through all the years. All of them, dead… just gone.

She told herself she didn't care, and perhaps she didn't. She was tired of hating her dad, tired of listening to her mom's constant rambling – she was happy that they were gone… wasn't she?

She shook her head, shaking away all the thoughts that nagged her ever since she stepped into the endless forest. It was eerily silent in the forest; apart from the rustling of leaves and the sound of the breeze, all was quiet. Silence calmed her; she had always been a quiet girl. She never talked without being spoken to. She answered questions with the least words possible. Some would say she was ignorant and haughty, but people who understood her knew better. Her horrible family background and lost childhood was one of the many reasons that made her 'The Silent Child'.

The sun was setting, the soft golden rays fading as if a neon orange curtain was drawn over it. Dusk has come, and complete silence descended upon the forest. She sank to the ground heavily, feeling the pain in her back as she scraped the tree trunk. Rummaging in her bag for a rough blanket, she surveyed her surroundings.

The last rays of sunlight shone through the thick leaves of the Evergreens, lighting up various spots of the bare ground. Small animals scuttled back to their holes and hollows, getting ready to spend the night. All was normal – too normal, she thought as she pillowed her head on her bag.

She didn't want to sleep; she didn't want to face the nightmares that haunted her ever since she ran away from her village two days ago. But her eyelids were getting heavy, her body shutting down automatically. The horrors started immediately.

Red, the color she hated so much.

The first time she saw red was the day she realized how much her brother cared for her. Her abusive father sauntered through the cottage door, smelling of alcohol, making his way towards her. She was three years old; the automatic response every time her father was around her was to cower behind the old sofa, hiding her face in her hands.

She was trembling, her body shaking with fear. She saw her father's evil grin as she peered over her small fingers and flinched.

His raised fist, the dangerous glint in his eyes, her mom's empty room. Those were the things that were spread in front of her. Everything was still for a second too long – everything but the closing fist. She knew what was coming next, the unbearable pain in her body as the fist contacted her body.

But that day, it never came.

Instead, red erupted everywhere. It dyed the gray sofa red, and spotted the white walls. But the red didn't come from her. No, it didn't. Relief was her first feeling, and then came the pang of horror, of sadness and guilt.

Her brother, Aegeus, crumpled in front her, blood spurting from his mouth and his left arm cradling his right. A sob escaped her lips as she crawled towards her brother. She touched his right arm gently, all the while saying 'sorry, sorry'.

Her brother smiled softly at her, extending his good arm and brushing away the tears. She looked at her hands. They were stained with red.

It was sticky. It was hot. It was ugly. It was too much.

She didn't want to see red again.

She woke up with a gasp. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead. She shivered as she recalled her dream. She suddenly felt the tears that she had been holding back for days threatened to spill over. No, she scolded herself, I would not cry. I would not think about him.

She was tired of feeling guilty, feeling sad, feeling pain and regret. She realized that she had been an idiot, waiting for her brother to save her that day when everyone died. She was disgusted with herself for being so dependent on her brother. She didn't want to feel all these anymore. So she shut those feelings away. She liked the way she felt now – numb, empty and hollow. It was the best feeling ever.

-Icy-

A/N This wonderful piece of writing was from Icy! She is so talented and is helping me write this story. Check her out, she is great! What did you think? R&R!

P.S. We're not going to do any "10 reviews and you'll get a chapter" we do this for fun, we upload when we can, which will be often ^.^

-D