A Note From Amelia:
In the middle of the sea, there is an Island. It not a deserted tropical island, or a large, heavily populated island, but small, mundane, and very isolated. It's a simple Island, or so it appears to be at first. A harbor connects the town to the ocean. For one weekend every month, three ferries travel to the Island, connecting it to the outside world, only for a few hours.
It was the school the Island was known for. There was not much else on it. A small town, a forest, a lake, some ancient ruins, a few caves and hills and valleys. And the school.
It was a school for those who were lost. Those who had no where else to go. Those who had nothing left. And that is why these certain people were going to the Island from across the world. Some came from the British Isles. Some for the roads of America. One had lived on the Island all her life.
But they were all lost, and they needed to be found.
...
P.S.
I think I lied. The school is not all that the Island is known for.
It lies within an eye of a storm. It is a constant curiousity to science and religion and mythology everywhere. It is seemingly seperated from the land of living by a veil of rain and wind. There is a constant danger to any who try to make it to the Island.
You see, this is a very different place. Not many can find a home here, and to be able to walk upon it. It is said to be the final resting place of the weary and worn and the broken and the lost.
They were all lost, and so, they were found.