Prologue

Her name was Angelique. She was only fifteen.

This is the story of how she died.

The life-changing scenario occurs seven years before her death. An innocent girl who enjoyed life, never knowing how it could betray one, cast its shadows and break one beyond repair. She went on loving life, not knowing the pain and fear that was coming. Creeping up on her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Then, on that peaceful Saturday, it indeed struck.

Her eyes open slowly, and she stretches, yawning and cuddling deeper into her blanket, enjoying the feel of freedom. She can get up whenever she wants; no rush. In childhood, sleep, to every child, is a way of experiencing what you desire most in reality; later it could become a way of escaping reality, for example, wanting to skip school to sleep in, delve in your more blissful thoughts.

The saddest part is, after that day, it will be to her something to escape from.

Angelique, more commonly called Angel by her friends, feels relaxed and, though wide awake, stays in bed a couple more moments just to feel the sheer pleasure of getting to make her own choices. But the second she stands up, she's reluctant to leave her comfy bed.

I only have two days to get to sleep in, she thinks. She's not sleepy but she doesn't want to waste the chance. So she climbs back into bed and immediately feels the tempting lull of sleep tug at her, pulling it gently into its depths…

Where am I?

Angel feels frustrated at her inability to fall asleep, but when she gets up again, she's almost blinded by the light. She looks around, up and down. No ceiling, no floor. White, white, white.

White. It's all she can see.

She begins to feel a small prickle of fear down her spine, and when she does, she jerks back abruptly.

What is this? Whatever it is, I don't like it.

The only solid object in the 'room' is a bed, and Angel grips her soft violet blanket, her heart pounding. When she hears a rustle behind her, she swivels around, mouth open and ready to scream.

She encounters only white.

Her frustration increases when she hears more rustling. She wants to find the source but wherever she turns, it's always the same: White.

She jumps when she hears a voice. "Greetings."

"…Er!" she squeaks hoarsely.

"I see you have found us at last," it continues.

Silence.

"We have waited a long time for you."

This time Angel manages to nod her head as a sign to carry on.

"You are probably wondering what this is all about," it prods. An indirect command for her to speak. Something, anything.

"W-Where are you?" she stammers, finally finding her voice.

"Here, there, everywhere…" The voice trails on and on, a never ending echo somehow fading harmoniously. "But the question should have been, where are you?"

Angel loses the ability to speak again.

"Think, Angelique. Where are you?"

But when she opens her mouth, the only thing that comes out is, "How did you know my name?"

"All questions will be answered if you can stay on topic," it replies politely.

She feels slightly embarrassed as she feels her face go hot. She then erases all thoughts from her mind – which, of course, is no easy task – and tries to come up with a name for the stark-white blankness which surrounds her. It agitates her, but when she manages to loosen her mind a little, she finds a blissful something blooming within herself.

"Am I in…in…Heaven?" she gasps. Though she can't see anyone but herself, she feels an unknown presence nod.

"Precisely. You are very smart for your age," the voice compliments. She tries to find where it's coming from, but the more she focuses on it, the more vague its whereabouts become. It seems as if it's coming from all directions. A voice from above? If she really is in Heaven, anything could be possible.

"B-But if I'm in…H-Heaven…does that mean I'm…d-dead?" she stutters, unable to even acknowledge the crushing, painful thought of it. How can she die? Then again, she can't seem to remember anything besides waking up in white.

The presence seems sympathetic. "No, no, not at all. Most people know Heaven as a realm of afterlife, which is true, but in your case, Heaven is merely where the most meaningful dream of dreams occurs."

"You mean…I'm dreaming?" Every muscle she has been holding tense relaxes. Dreaming. That doesn't sound too bad. That means she can still wake up to her life. If she has a life, as she cannot recollect any memories. But if she's dreaming, then she will probably remember everything when she's awake.

"Yes," the voice says, "and you are here for a very important reason."

"Really?" she gasps. She focuses.

Suddenly she notices a section of the room shimmers. Then silver replaces white, and there stand three cloaked men.

"On this planet, an average of twenty gifted individuals are born in one decade," the man explains, while Angel listens with her eyes wide. "They are gifted because they have a special aura, a special spirit that can be very powerful if it is controlled. And six years ago on this very day, a girl with such a gift was born."

"What's her name?" she asks curiously.

"It could be any female born six years ago on the fifth of November. All we know is, she lives in New York, in the USA."

"That's far away from here," she realizes. She lives in Japan.

"Yes, and there is more," the second man adds. "The reason this is so important to you is that you have been chosen to be the guardian of this girl. You must protect her from harm, and cannot let any fatality occur to her."

Angel takes a while to process this vital information.

"If," the third man says in a voice roughened by age and withered by coldness, "anything might happen to her. For instance, if she dies," his eyes glint, "you will be severely punished. I will see to that. After her death, the next time you fall asleep, you will meet the same fate."

For the first time in her life, she feels fear and anxiety. "But wait!" she cries out. "How can I protect her if I don't know who she is? And how can it be my fault if she dies?"

The first and kinder man replies, "She lives in New York. She is most likely a blader, as most children your age are. You must travel to America. Once there, you mustn't let her out of sight. So if she does die, yes, I'm afraid the consequences will be severe."

She is shaking. Tears threaten to break loose. Fright, real fright, is the worst. She imagines being brutally killed as a punishment, and suddenly it becomes very important indeed, to find this girl.

"O-Okay," she whispers, voice quivering like it did before. "I'll do my best."

The third man laughs cruelly. "Make sure your best won't end up killing you."

She nods, trembling, and on impulse jumps into her bed, tears running down her cheeks now. Because she knows she'll die. It might not necessarily be due to the punishment. Anything can go wrong.

The next time she opens her eyes, she finds herself in her bedroom with a soggy pillow on her face. But her fear in not quenched, because she knows one thing's for sure. And the thought still haunts her twelve-year-old self.

What happened that night might have been a dream, but it's all very much real.