Ten Years Before
My family once meant everything. Being the only child in the Brooks's family made life a luxury. In England, it seemed nothing could ever go wrong. The closest we had ever gotten to the rioters was by newspaper. Apparently, a group known as "Krafta" was on a wild rampage, destroying and conquering city after city, country after country, continent after continent, and god knows when they'll be done. England was the only country left who was untouched by Krafta's domain.
"There are rumors of an invasion in Sweden," my dad announced as he entered our small, tidy home. "They keep just spreading and spreading."
My mother was not taken aback from his first comment, but she looked alarmed at the second. By now, we could only rely on stories that may not be entirely true. Rumors. The only unnerving piece was that some of these stories may not have been told. For all we know, they could be in London right now.
I awoke with a yelp to the sound of intense sirens and the stench of cruel smoke. Startled, I launched my small, six-year-old body to the ground, and started out of my room quickly. Without waiting, I rushed down the stairs, my feet clashing beside the wood. I screamed, when I saw what was waiting for me. My beloved mother had a bullet embedded in her chest, and my father was dying beside her, his throat slit, tears in his eyes. "Lana," he mustered. "Run." I could feel him fade out. Quietly, I gave a small sob, holding my breath, but soon, I noticed it. A tall, dark silhouette stood in the doorway, a blade from his sleeve, and a shotgun in his other hand. I screamed, but he was quick, running up to me to put a hand over my mouth.
The last thing I remember was him. I recognized him from the pictures. He was the leader. The leader of Krafta. I could feel him depress one of my sensitive pressure points, and I fell, blacking out.
Ever since then I've been his captive. Actually, he considers me his daughter, but we all know the truth. The only problem I run into is that every time I think of escape, I have no one and nowhere to go to. I have to stay here. My choices are gone, diminished. All I have left was the sliver of hope, that somewhere, someday, someone will save me from this torturous nightmare.
But, I do have one advantage. I've been in battles. Big ones, too. Ever since my "kidnaping", I was taught combat. Hand-to-hand, shooting, targeting, and best of all, I can work with daggers. Not only can I work with them, but I can manage to hit you in the eye with one about one hundred feet away. I plan to seek revenge, when my rescue takes place. I always have.
(Hey again! I just wanted to get you guys hooked on a new series me and my friend are attempting to accomplish. This was originally a roleplay between the two of us, and now, we get to share the beautiful story with you! This story is based off the fascinating and gorgeous art by Simon Stalenhag. Stay tuned, dear readers, because more of this is coming your way! Thanks a bunch!
With love,
Maggie the Forever Mangle ❤❤❤❤)