Hi guys. I know that I have a lot of stories going already but I couldn't resist writing this. This is literally just the prologue, but I really enjoyed writing it, so there should be more soon. Please review and tell me what you think at the end, I'd love to hear it.
Enjoy it, everyone.
Prologue
I was running. I could feel the rain pounding down on my head as I took the corner at a sharp turn, feeling the muscles in my legs burn at the unwanted action. I could feel my previously white dress swish around my ankles, the expensive cotton material slowly being weighed down with mud as I crossed through a patch of muddy grass to make my journey shorter. My light brown shoes were ruined and I had no hope for their future - I thought, rather depressingly, that it reflected my future as well.
Stopping abruptly, I skidded slightly, the shoes having no traction whatsoever, and soon came to a standstill against a grimy wall. The wall was part of an old building I was used to walking past on my way to the local shops. The wall had been there since the Italian War's of the early 1500's. It had stood through all the conflict no matter what happened to the village around it. It held a huge historical significance to us villagers, especially those who had lived through the wars that ended only 20 years ago. I was too young to properly remember it, having been born the year the last war ended - I was very lucky in that aspect. I had been told many stories of what had happened during those times.
I opened my eyes, not remembering closing them, and stared at the climbing ivy and the healing cracks on the wall. My arms were straight in front of me, my hands planted firmly on the wall. The long sleeves of my dress were dripping with rainwater, stretching down towards the ground, even the slightly tighter sleeves that had been hidden under the wider sleeves of the overdress. Licking my lips, I felt my eyebrows furrow as I heard the shouts and footsteps all of a sudden, pounding loudly against the pavement and reverberating against the street's walls. Inhaling quickly, I huddled against the wall, hoping that they wouldn't follow my path and find me here. I was sure to be in so much trouble already, but I couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen if they found me here, like this.
"...ta!" The sounds faded away slowly and I closed my eyes in relief, letting my wet hair fall over my eyes where it had fallen out of its tight braid. They had gone, I told myself, I was safe.
'For now' I thought darkly. I was not anticipating the return I would get when I went home, although I knew Padre most certainly was. He had been highly anticipating this day for years and now that I had surely ruined it, I would be punished and even Mama wouldn't be able to help me this time.
The year of 1605 was a tough one for everyone in France, let along just Marseille. The famine had been going on for too long and for my family, who made our money as farmers, it had been a tough ten years, especially with the birth of my younger brother, Tomas, three years ago. At fifteen years old and the second oldest in the family, I had a lot of responsibility, with Mama sick in bed and Papa busy on the fields. My older brother, Corin, who was nineteen, helped our father on the fields everyday, whilst it was my responsibility to look after my five younger siblings.
Smiling into the horizon as I watched the rising sun, I could make out the form of Papa out on the inner fields, where we kept the livestock. My family owned large acres of land that had been in their possession for over a century, no matter what the country went through - and for that, we were all very thankful. We had had a mostly steady income over the years, despite the problems we were going through now.
Feeling my face stretch into a grin, I ran down the hill, where their house rested, around the outside path to the outer fields, where the crops were grown and my younger brothers and sisters were at this hour, watering the crops and harvesting those that were ready. I was always the last one on the fields, as it was also my responsibility to make sure Mama took her medication and cleaned up each morning. Waving cheerfully at Corin as I passed by him, I wasn't watching were I was going.
That was a mistake.
1660 England actually wasn't so bad, even as a 25 year old spinster living my myself in London. Living in my small house in a small suburb of London was a quiet life, even with the... 'exciting' nightlife. Talk of vampires and werewolves caused some amusement for me, although the hunting of witches caused a small tendril of worry to worm itself into my stomach - living as I was, it was just a matter of time before I was suspected and hunted down. I had a horrible feeling that my life so far had been too peaceful.
I was right.
Night had barely fallen when I heard the knock on the door. I set down my embroidery on the small table to my left, making sure that I didn't knock over the burning candle standing there. Pushing myself up from the slightly uncomfortable armchair I shuffled to the front door, pulling across the lock so that I could open it, although only partway. It didn't stop them from grabbing me.
I let out a loud cry as a large hand grabbed my forearm roughly, pulling me through the barely open doorway at the same time as someone pushed my door open harshly.
"Look through the house. We need to burn any object of witchery with the witch herself." The man sneering down at me said. He was a graying blond, with grey eyes and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He had a pastor's collar showing prominently around his neck. "You are a witch!" He spat at me. I could feel my heart sink at his words. "Do you have any words against this?" He asked.
I could tell by the way he said it that no matter what I said, it wouldn't make any difference. I still tried though.
"I am not a witch!" I struggled to escape his hold as he dragged me further into the centre of London, but he wouldn't let up. "I have not committed any acts of magic!" I defended myself. "What evidence made you even consider this accusation!?"
"There is no need for evidence. You have been found guilty of acts of witchery" The man said calmly.
I couldn't believe that feeling I had earlier was right - I had always felt apprehensive when the subject of the witch hunts came up, but had never truly believed that I would be accused of witchcraft. I suppose that I should have listened to my instinct, but as a woman seamstress living by myself in central London, I didn't have any other options to avoid an accusation as many other women had.
The man dragged me towards a large collection of wood. A young man was stood there, waiting. He had perfectly groomed blonde hair and as we got closer, I could see his bright blue eyes looking at me, as if he really didn't want to be here. I angrily thought 'why was he here if he didn't want to be!?'
"Carlisle, ready the fire." The man ordered. The man, Carlisle, nodded slowly.
"Yes Father."
I was soon tied to pyre, my skirts pierced by the sharper objects making up my death bed. I was panicking as i tried to escape the bonds holding me as the young man - Carlisle - approached and set the pile of wood on fire, but I could feel the heat crawling closer to me as I watched the men and women stood a safe distance from me.
My eyes once again landed on the young blonde man and I watched as sympathy and pity took over his eyes as he watched me being engulfed by flames.
That was the first time I remembered my death.
On my 21st birthday in 1723 in the city of Vienna, Austria, I remembered everything. I lived with my husband of nearly seven years and ended up spending the entire day in bed, despite my reservations of missing out on my birthday celebrations. My husband had soon persuaded me to rest for the day to ready for the ball held in celebration that night. I had taken him up on his suggestion, although I knew I didn't have much choice.
It was as I was laying there in bed, the curtains pulled tightly over the window to prevent the sunlight from making my head ache. It had been a thoughtful gesture from my husband - one that surprised me. As I was contemplating the out of character action from my husband, I could feel a flare of pain start up behind my eyelids, but I ignored it.
*I was running through a wet street, long blonde hair flying behind me*
*The sunlight was overpowering as I walked through a large ballroom made practically of only windows*
*The fields were the brightest shade of green I had ever seen, flowers sprouting from the ground everywhere, no place left untouched. I saw a set of bare feet twist and twirl to avoid stepping on them.*
*There was a large bed, an older woman with blonde hair and green eyes sitting on it, smiling kindly at me with a small, brown haired boy curled up against her side. "Mama"*
I gasped, my eyes flying open as memories not mine invaded my mind.
*I was sitting on an uncomfortable chair, a set of needles and a long piece of cloth occupying my hands and lap. I was sat in a circle with five other women, all of them wearing small smiled as we chatted idly*
*I could feel the flames lick up my long hair, the red of the strands disappearing in the flames. I cried out as the flames licked at my face.*
I shot up in bed, my hands flying to my face in horror. I stumbled quickly out of the covers and over to the large mirror taking up space on the far wall. My breath caught in my throat as I saw angry red marks on my face slowly fade away.
*The castle was gigantic, with long, winding corridors and large windows. The floor was a deep red, as was the walls. The people there were exceptionally pretty, with blood red eyes.*
*A blonde man stood in front of me, military uniform dusty and torn. "Major Whitlock, ma'am. I'm here to help," My hand reached out to grab onto his*
*A large river snaking in front of me, sunlight glistening off its blue surface. It was a beautiful sight, made even better by the large, dark haired man smiling at me from across the water. "I'll get wet!" My voice was playful.*
*A large, white room. A tall man in a white doctors coat. A needle and a cruel laugh. There was a small girl next to me. Dark haired and quiet, her eyes blank*
*I was pressed against the wall in a dark alleyway, a large man pressed tightly against me, his breath stinking of alcohol. I was crying out as he kissed down my neck, my conservative top stopping him from going too far. Then he was gone and all I could remember from that night is auburn hair glistening in the moonlight*
*I was in a grocery store and I was watching a small family as discreetly as I could. The woman was average sized with dark, frizzy hair and the man was tall and a red head. Each of them held a small child, twins and my hand passed over my belly subconsciously*
These didn't feel like memories, not like the first lot. It made me even more confused.
I didn't know what was happening to me.
That was the beginning of my remembered life, but it didn't officially start until my birth on the 27th May, 1989, in the town of Forks, Washington.
That was the start of my life.
So...tell me what you think, please.