Prologue(Revamped)
There is a story,
a tale long turned myth,
Long since faded to legend.
A story of love…
And of terror.
Some say that there is a demon that resides deep within the heart of the forest. A demon so mutilated and terrifying to behold, that whomever looked upon it would die of fright at the sight of it, that was why they never returned.
Or there are those that have returned, but never again venture outside when the night falls and the moon is bright in the sky. They are the ones that never set foot under the trees again.
I had first heard this story as a little girl, sitting at my father's feet, staring up in wonder at the wide sweeping gestures he would make with his arms and the looks he would give when he made different faces at us.
"The treetops is where it waits, among the branches, hidden among the leaves. It waits for it victims to come closer, then it attacks, leaving nothing but bloody remains and torn clothes behind. Then it fades like the shadows of night running from the rising sun. So always watch your surroundings, always be alert." Our father would say.
I thought it was just a ghost story, to scare little children into behaving, so I would dismiss the warnings with a roll of my eyes and a shake of my head.
My older brothers, on the other hand, took it to heart, and grew up wary of the forest. They always kept a sharp eye out for the unsuspecting evil that could befall them at any turn.
I wasn't always as wary as them. I grew to love the forest. To love everything about it; Its' sounds, smells, and even its' creatures. Every little part of the wood had a special place in my heart and in my mind. I would often spend my days walking among the trees, hiding from my father and a hard day's worth of chores.
Some days being among the trees frightened me, held some deep part of me in mind-numbing terror. Now mind you, I wasn't always brave, but fear never held me for long. I could be terrified out of my wits one day, but go right back out there the next. For I had a fool's courage, my father told me time and time again, just like my mother.
How was I to know that the stories that my father told me would be true…
…but only halfway.
For you to better understand why, I think I better start at the beginning.
My name is Alura.