A/N: Yes, I have rewritten the prologue, again. Trust me though it sounds much better than before.

"Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like." ― Lemony Snicket.

Entwined Arrows

~Prologue~

Fate, My Fickle Fingered Friend

Fate.

It's such a cruel yet powerful word.

It is the essence of why things turn out the way they are. Fate, in a terrifying manner, is like a play, with us as the unlucky actors, welding us as a puppeteer does to his puppets. The mere thought of knowing that our emotions, goals, and hopes are at the disposal of fate is unpleasant and unfair. The mere thought of knowing our destiny is already chosen, but unfortunately concealed until the absolute, inopportune moment chills me to my very core.

Why is it that bad things always seem to happen to good people? Why is fate dead set on making life a living hell for a selected few? Since when am I included in that group?

Is it because of the bad karma I seem to have acquire somewhere? Or simply because the man upstairs seems to enjoy placing me in sticky, unpleasant situations? What am I a pawn in a terrible game of chess, because it sure as hell feels that way!

I will never comprehend why I, out of millions of people way superior in every aspect then me, was picked for such a huge and impossible task. What makes me so damn special and capable?

I was just trying to enjoy my summer vacation, for crying aloud! Had I been somewhere else doing a completely different thing, would it have been different? Tony believes either way we would have ended in Narnia eventually. Our path, according to him, was already set in stone, ready to be fulfilled.

I believe he had been right. That's fate for you, rearing its ugly head and ridiculing you from the shadows.

Isn't it funny how memories you had cherished prior to heartbreak have become your worse enemies? The precious memories that had once bared immense significance, the memories that had once gander your undivided attention—now nothing but an excruciating reminder of what use to be. And the only way to forget, to ease the pain, is to barricade them in the deepest nook of your brain, far from the light of day. It wasn't an act of bitterness or anger. It was merely a way of easing the agony, the agony of having to recall; a way of dealing with the unbearable heartbreak inflicted by him.

Forgetting isn't enough—it never was. No matter how many times I push and shove those thoughts to the back corner of my mind, they keep floating back, again and again and again! Like great white sharks, they circle around my every side, sharp teeth bared to strike me at my most vulnerable time.

If only it was that easy. If only I could forget love's every touch, every word, and every look. If only I could boldly claim that his presence had not left such a pronounce mark on me. But I—I can't do it… no matter how hard I—I try, I ju-just can't! The transgression, remorse, agony, and sorrow I feel will never truly go away—not unless I return to Narnia, to him. Until then,I will still be an empty shell of the once-happy girl. Those memories are embedded, engraved in my brain like a tattoo on someone's arm; they will always remain.

I may seem like a bitter hag, but there are times when you wishes to forget not because of regret, but to get rid of the flashbacks to something in the past that you will never have.

My name is Annelise Atwood. I am impelled to say that this part of the story isn't about me, but rather, who I use to be. A story that portrays hope, grit, anguish, darkness, but above all, love.

Here is where I lay down all the facts and lies for you to examine and then judge, about the ones around me and myself.

I hope that when I'm done you will not hate me as I do myself...