Prologue::
Deep within the heart of London smokey white fog filled the dark streets; cold weather had taken control once again, forcing people of all sorts to bustle in and out of the nearest coffee shop in hopes of getting something warm. "Aunt Mattie's Coffee", wasn't particularly the best place to get coffee but the old woman who ran the little shop was kind and could unfreeze any stone heart with a smile. So they all swallowed the bitter drink and smiled even if their's had been sweetened perhaps to a sickeningly point and continued to come back.
Subject to much of the over crowded café and shouts ringing through the walls, a young lady in her early twenties stood behind the counter, her dark brown eyes gazing in boredom at the woman before her.
"Thank you, come again," She muttered unenthusiastically, handing the woman a Styrofoam cup, the heat of the coffee seeped through the cup and singed her hands as the woman fixed her blonde curls before even giving the coffee a glance. Emma Dale growled as a snotty smile was given to her in gratitude, her long fingers itching to feel her own hair. Dry and limp, and such an ugly sort of brown too; like mud, but worse -to her, at least.
How she hated working and living anywhere near London, where all the "pretty people", as dubbed by Emma, wandered about flaunting their pretty blonde hair and big blue eyes. Even the redheads and brunettes would do it from to time. Though, what sickened her most was their constant taunting at her pale skin and unkempt hair. She couldn't help it if she was as pale as death or if her hair frizzed every time it dried, it was just how she was made.
Tall and lanky, she was a boney woman with no shape. And, as if to further this image of boy-ish appearance, Emma chose to wear large shirts and baggy jeans. She could care less about what she wore. After all, her mentality had become: I don't look good anyways, why should I dress like I do? It was quite a sad little state she had put herself in, but no one dared to correct her. Not even her family, for they knew that even if they tried they'd suffer the harsh sting of Emma's angry bark.
Her temper was quite the killer.
Mixing together a strange assortment of blends and creams, Emma grumbled endlessly to herself. Oh, how she hated this job. How she hated having to get up and actually move every morning. But, she needed the money and so she would haul herself out of bed every morning and drag her body to the coffee shop. Every day the same thing, save for Saturdays and Holidays -her days off.
Though, today seemed different. Unexplainable; there was a constant low rumble everywhere she went, and when she confronted her co-workers about the feeling they laughed and told her it was her imagination. Emma frowned as the rumble slowly came back, drumming directly beneath her feet, following her steps as she moved to hand an elderly couple their drinks.
Suddenly, without warning, everything went dark; nobody was there, nothing was there. She dropped the porcelain cup in her hands; her dark eyes darted about for a sign of another life, someone to call out to, someone to explain this ordeal. No one.
A green slime oozed from the dark ground, taking hold of her feet and ankles as the ground split in two, like a door opening to somewhere beyond her imagination. Down she fell, down into the unthinkable.
And thus our story begins...