PROLOGUE
July 15, 1865
The stars shone on the cobblestone streets, watching as the young blonde girl sobbed her way along an empty sidewalk. She kicked loveless pebbles away from her, punishing them for her grief. Much like the girl, the stars were pining for their own love, but the moon was not present. They used the girl to distract themselves from their plight.
Her voice filled the air with song — a happy tune that soon transitioned to hysterical laugher. Curious children pressed their faces against their windows, listening as her giggles coalesced into one melancholic scream. They wondered at the dark streak in her hair, dyed red with blood. Soon enough she was swallowed by shadows, and the children pushed her from their minds.
The stars looked on as she entered the darkened forest, listening as her wailing tinged the air with crimson sleep. The girl clawed her way through, thorns and brambles tearing at her pale skin. She didn't feel it.
For hours the stars watched her. They watched as she struggled through the tallest trees, fighting physical battles alongside her innermost wars. They watched when she stopped to bury a dead bird on a forgotten path, tenderly caressing its frozen body before she piled mounds of dirt on its soft white feathers. They watched as her dress was ripped and torn, her hair losing the remnant gold as it filled with leaves and sap.
They felt no sympathy for her pain. Not even when she lost all energy, collapsing on the forest floor. They watched as she lay for another hour, resting her head on a bed of leaves. Nobody came for her. In the town she had run from, not a single person was looking for her.
The stars noticed when she lost all will to live. They noticed when she used her remaining energy to pull a small diamond ring from her finger, tossing it into the oblivion created by the trees around her. They watched as slowly, slowly, she drifted to a different kind of peaceful darkness. Blood seeped from her cracked lips, staining them red.
But blood looks black on a moonless night.