Prologue

Once Upon a Time, some idiot writer decided to write in Comic Sans, and would sue anyone who told him he couldn't. Regardless, there was probably some sort of story he was supposed to be telling, but instead he wasted his time saying hello to the reader who was brave enough to pick up a book where the first words were in Comic Sans. No, not first words, first paragraph! HAHA! Didn't see that coming did ya? Plot twists at its finest. Tolkein has nothing on some weirdo writing in Comic Sans! WOO! I've done good.

Wait! Don't go! There's still some story here! Hold on, let me just rummage through this… ok! Here it is! I left it under my variety of bills to pay. Ok. Let me dust it off it a bit it smells like fruit. Why does it smell like fruit? Ugh. Should toss that bits of orange out. That's disgusting. Anyway, after about two paragraphs of pointless chatter with the author which wasted everyone's time, here is the story! Cue the music! Cue the lights! Cue the…queue?

Once Upon a Time…

Wait nope, that was a receipt for pizza. Oh here it is!

Once Upon a Time….

The Wesker Woods were wrought with wintery wrath, snowlight dripping from crying trees and a solemn quiet that ate away the chasmic echoes of weeping. The crunch of snow and smell of overgrown ice. With each step the black boots took, the sinking feeling overwhelmed her and the branches that surrounded her. Even though the woods begged her, whined for the boots to sink further into the bottomless snow, she didn't stop to smell the frozen roses.

What could those boots possibly be keeping in tact? Why bother keeping away the wet and pathetic cold of the woods? Why save yourself from the desperate calls of despair? Who are you venturing to red one? Who are you humming to admongst your inevitable tears? Give in… Break free of joy… Let the crying trees be watered by your despair…

Fels didn't care. The woods were just a pathway to somewhere else. Someplace worse maybe? Or better? What was she thinking? What was going through her mind? I don't know. She had somewhere to go obviously. Without somewhere to be, something to detract her from the detrimental roots, how would she possibly survive, and stop herself from indulging in succumbing to the shadows of the woods? They ate everything. All it took was a push to lead someone into the tears that followed.

The Pit awaited Fels, a black void that spread for as many meters as souls inside. As more joined the bounty, it expanded and grew for every soul lost in the woods. How unfortunate for her to walk there, to view over the side of that abyss and still be alright with the view. How dilapidated do you have to be? Fels smiled at the view, cocking her head at the big black pool of darkness. How curious. She put one boot forward, the blue rubber a strange glimmering in the woods, and walked on the pit. It couldn't claim her. It couldn't reach up and grab the color. She smiled joyfully all the way, pushing the pit away, as she neared the center. Fels didn't sink. Her smile wouldn't let her. This isn't universal you know. Smiles aren't always real joy and happiness. People love to lie about those things.

Fels sat down in midair, curling out a knapsack from the undertoes of her cloak. After freeing the knapsack of its mortal bonds, she feasted on the red pus and juices of the seeds of youth, enriching her mouth with the crimson of berries.

She sat on a big scary hole and ate jelly beans. Was that too much to say?

After three thousand, six hundred and two grisled seconds of gnawing and chewing, scraping her teeth along fruited molts of blue, green, and yellow, she was joined by a passenger of grotesque nature, a ooze of snowy hair slithering down from the depths, a grey husk of flesh carrying around like the weight of humanity. Tears spilt from the slices in her face, breaking into the cloth she bore from the tangent of horror.

Fels acknowledged the beast, which might have been Miss Taken. The knapsack was captured once again into the ward of Fels' folds, and the smile was unfaded as she trekked to her feet. Run child. Flee. You cannot free yourself from angst. It eats away and consumes your nature—STOP HUGGING IT!

Fels bounded towards the Miss Taken, bending outward from her robed to hook the monstrosity around its torso, dragging it closer and cramming her young skull against its bosom. The color from her face was toxic, leaking onto the behemoth and causing a rash of life. This predicament surely was wretched in its own right. The development must be scoured and ripped away, eaten and wasted away into the chasm of the forgotten.

Miss Taken haunched her maw over Fels, hacking her back forward and extending marks of her anxiety around the child, the bright and disgusting compassion infecting her and poisoning her mind. Such was not allowed in these woods, but what can I say? Love is a foreign species here that has no natural predators…yet. And as the dripping rags around her arms hissed away into a woolen shell, Miss Taken reclaimed part of her former self, molten care invigorating her cloth and silk wrapping around her bones.

The color in her face gave her back a smile, and that smile was all that kept her afloat on the pit. It was as genuine as Fels', but she still retained some gray of the former thoughts. A face of plaster looked down at the child, like a mask to assure herself. The face below that looked back at her was flesh and blood, warm and pleasant.

And after three stinking pages, we finally get our first bit of dialogue. That only took what, thirty minutes?

"Hi Mom!" Fels beamed up at Miss Taken. It was a clean song, not cruded by unnecessary halves and wholes. Not burdened by the heavy weight of reality. Her face was the same, sheltered by a red hijab that fell down into a long red cloak that covered her limbs and had no sleeves to puncture forth hands or knees. It was tired together with a yellow string that held the seams in place, and coiled up to a small green fez with that same yellow string. Of course, recalling these details were unnecessary, but it's silly having a tiny 11-year old protagonist that looks like a face with some boots at the bottom. This isn't a videogame where all you can see of someone is the gun they're shooting out of. I'm sorry, we've gotten sidetracked.

"Hello Sweetie…" Miss Taken greeted the innocent, a single piano note played over again, the succubus of monotony. A repetitive strike from a spoon that bruised, always harming, never killing. But with a hacking sensation, and a belittling attempt, she urked another response, "What have you been doing today?"

Fels was all too eager to respond. She used to be hesistant to ask, given the agony her mother endured from smiling again. After many moons, however, she had reached the inevitable conclusion that these interactions, however the torment, were the only possible rock in the pond, the only ripple that kept her mother from fading into the pit completely. The determination and agony of living permitted her to stay just a little longer until her only fruitful memory was safe.

"I picked some white flowers today!" Fels burst, not the least to the surprise of her mother. Miss Taken hmmed, the closest she got to a laugh or a chuckle these days. "Is that so?"

"Mmm hmm!"

"Well that sounds delightful. I was always a fan of yellow flowers myself. They were quite delightful while I had them." She shook her head sadly, but kept up the smile for her child. The hope Fels hadn't noticed would be infathomable to anyone though. And so the child released Miss Taken from her hold and proudly stood up, beaming with a newfound idea, "Did you lose them?"

"Yes…it's alright though. Someone gave me some orange ones to make up for it."

"That's not the same! You want yellow flowers. Because they're pretty! Like you!"

"I would love that."

"I'll go and get some for you!" Fels declared, swiveling on one foot and kicking outward to prepare for the next adventure, but a mourning arm held her back. "No. It's alright! Go get yourself some yellow flowers. I'll be ok here. They're an awfully long way."

"No. I will get you some too! Everyone deserves yellow flowers because everyone likes flowers." She laughed, then added awkwardly, "Even if they have allergies."

Miss Taken knew there was nothing she could do to stop Fels. Everyone went out to find something someday, but she couldn't help but feel her rag begin to droop down again as she slowly melted closer into the pit. In terror, she snatched Fels and buoyed off her, while she slowly began to go under into the great big black. Color returned to her face, but at what cost, as some of the color faded from Fels as she waded through the black brine of the pit.

"Hey! Stop!" Fels ordered the woman, who released her, stopping the child from sinking further into the pit with her. Miss Taken apologized, "I'm sorry…go find some yellow flowers! I'm proud of you."

Fels firmly agreed and bent down to give her mother a peck on the cheek before skipping on the big black to its outer rim. She looked back at her mother and waved, the folds of her robes creasing into triangles around her limbs. The snow that was once deep around her boots now barely scratched them, like she was walking on air. It was impossible not to identify that feeling within her, that alien emotion to this place.

Miss Taken waved back, tears once again flowing down her face as she stared out at her beloved Fels. It's impossible to describe the emotion a parent feels when their child leaves the nest. Or maybe it is, and I am not capable of describing it since I am not familiar with the sensation. I have no children of my own and I doubt a fish named Franklin counts. However, I can tell you that Miss Taken lost the color from her face again, and resisted falling into the pit so she could see her daughter leave.

Four long fingers and a clawlike thumb put their hold around Miss Taken's arm, and she looked down. She knew she had to go. The nightmare Noirsserped loomed over her, red eyes staring her down and pulling her down like a bag of rocks back into the big sick spittoon of tears that was the pit in the Wesker Woods. Fels tried to ignore the demon that was Noirsserped, but some things were always there, like a nagging sensation or a report of progress, a bad memory. Something that would always scare and excite you to run or hide in a corner.

Describing the demon Noirsserped seems unnecessary. Every living creature knows it. They may call it by a different name, but they are familiar with the beast that will bring you down into a hovel and keep you there until the rest of your miserable life. However long or short that may be.

Fels left the Woods with an absence of nothing. A purpose to perpetuate herself into the world and allow her to set out into the great wide open. This destination was her guide, as she would seek the adventures ahead, however good or bad. But, for the sake of ease I assure you that nothing here is good and bad except for the emotions that guide us. So, our story begins, as the reality of a fantasy unfolds, and our protagonist sets out into a world she and the reader will both learn more about.