A/N: So, I changed my name. I'm now blazed-with-ink. As of July 3rd, I've edited these chapters, so I'd advise going back and rereading. Thanks!
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A quill scratches away in the half-light that precedes dawn. Gray curtains are shut against the awakening of the world outside, a lock is flipped with the key missing, and possessions are scattered across the hard maple-wood floor. A rumpled bed with a deep red comforter and golden sheets claims the eye - alongside the majority of the space in the room. Beside it, a black vanity stands deserted. A desk is on the other side of the bed. It, too, is messy and chaotic. A woman sits in a rickety chair in front of it. A piece of parchment lies in front of her, half covered in disheveled words and phrases. Tearstains dot the parchment here and there, smudging the words. It is she that scribbles away at the parchment before her, eyes half-closed and she convulses in great, inhuman sobs as she rights. She screams silently into the darkness of her hell, clawing, aching, to fill the throbbing void inside of her. She is empty, she is hollow, she is nothing.
No one knows what she has gone through, no one knows what she is trapped in, no one has any hope of understanding. She is trapped in this inferno of misery, this abyss, this limbo of hell-fire in which nothing can escape. Time cannot heal her wounds, for time does not pass in the personal hell that is her mind.
She stares at the letter, quivering, the quill held tightly in her hand. Predawn light trickles in between the closed curtains, as the sun rises behind the clouds. It has been six years, yes, and she knows that it is time to move on. So with trembling fingers, she ties the letter to an owl's leg and whispers a word that no one hears, as the bird flies off.
She wants to escape this hole, this tomb she is buried in. But she knows there is no way for her to survive, no way for her to live on. Not without him. As much as she hates to admit it, she is blank without him. He wrote their story with her, on her, and when he left he took the words with him, leaving nothing behind but a collection of letters she can't fathom into phrases. They are scars, deforming her mind and soul, yet no one can see.
Because she carved herself to fit him, and when he left, she could not fit with anyone else. She is resigned to her fate, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
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A/N: And, sorry it's short, it's the prologue and I have a lot more coming...so yeah. Review, please!