PART I

Anything is what she is

Anywhere is where she's from

Anything is what she'll be

Anything as long as it's mine

~*~Dig Up Her Bones – Misfits~*~

The front of her grey gowns, around her exposed neckline, felt particularly wet. The cloak she wore, a heavy affair of black layers, was clasped at the hollow of her throat and streamed behind her. The fastenings further along the cloak's edge had all been broken. Raylah couldn't imagine how that had happened. She felt certain that she wouldn't have worn a ripped cloak.

Again, slender fingers skimmed at the uncovered skin of her throat. And again, she expected her fingers to come away stained, dripping with some unknown liquid but they remained dry. It was a peculiar sensation and she'd been having scores of those upon her painful wake some time ago.

When her eyes had opened and surveyed her surroundings, she knew she'd fallen badly. Her head ached in sharp throbs and behind her, a gnarled tree root had retained a scrap of her cloak in its wooden grasp. Beyond the fall, Raylah remembered nothing.

Deep within the forest's thicket, injured and in the murk of the night, she was alone. It was odd, just as the slight fraying at her memory's verge was odd. There were things she almost remembered, things that seemed to dance within her reach and then escape when she came too close. Something had happened to her and it was something bad, of that she was certain..

The killing of one's own flesh...

Raylah shivered, gooseflesh scraping the skin beneath her clothing. The wind was picking up, weaving through the somber trees and scouring at her disheveled coiffure. Her soft slippers sank into the damp earth with gentle grates, moving towards an unknown direction. It was unclear how long she'd been trudging thorough the forest deep but from the shoddy look of her cloak and skirts, it must have been a good while.

Thick shadows made the forest and in its unseen embrace lurked things rabid and horrid. There came, not for the first time, the impression of being watched, examined. Icy fingers rose, scribbling at her throat and again her fingers came away dry. Clearly she was being foolish. She was not wet, only cold. She tugged her cloak together over her breasts and held it closed.

Above her, clouds converged and the sky rose in shrieks. The darkness swelled and pulsated. Something alive howled in the distance, rippling with the wind. Leafy limbs crunched into splintering bark. In the underbrush, gnawing creatures scurried. A storm splashed over the night's surface.

Raylah caught hold fistfuls of grey skirts and ducked beneath a clawing Rancid Oak tree. The sky ruptured down upon her, drenching the forest in liquid. She pressed herself against the knotted wood as pointed twigs pursed into her hair. Pushing the whipping branches aside, Raylah caught sight of a square of parchment affixed to the left side of the Rancid Oak. It was badly tattered with the shred borders beating upon the tree's thick trunk.

Raylah pressed her face close to the vellum fine and read.

His Highness, The Crowned Prince Ayden of Lilia hath returned to the Castle Proper following five fortnights of relentless albeit unsuccessful searching for one Princess fair. Within the Royal Courtyard shall be celebrations upon the Harvest Moon Full. All ye be welcome save sinners of the faith.

A tiny inkling of familiarity seeped into her mind at the name of the Prince. Ayden. She knew it certainly for it spilled from her lips like blood from a blade with fluid alacrity. Had they met upon some previous occasion? She knew that she too was royalty, the signet ring of cold jade proclaimed her as such. The title of 'Princess' sounded right but other than that, her realities remained blurry. Could it be possible that she was of a relation to the Prince? Perhaps the kingdom of Lilia, while remaining elusive to her mind's eye, was her home. She didn't see why not.

The urge to make herself known inside the castle and find out what fates had befallen her, overwhelmed Raylah. There was still fear, piercing as glass oh yes, but it dimmed in the wake of her need to find answers. Raylah stepped out from beneath the tree's clutching embrace. A shroud of frosty rain spilled over her, drenching the Princess to the marrow within seconds. Liquid conformed to pale skin like a silken garment, licking over her face and splashing down the slope of her throat.

Now she was wet.

"As is should be," she murmured, unable to keep from reaching up to touch her neck skin.

She knew not what had possessed her to say such words. They shouldn't have meant anything, four tiny words...and yet they did. They meant worlds of unknown affairs. They meant her memory loss and everything other.

Wrenching up full, mud-writ skirts, Raylah took flight through the screeching storm. The dirt and the grass become a uniform stew of drenched paths. With every step, her feet were swallowed and regurgitated, smudged with sliding soil.. Frenzied bursts of wind seized at her hair and yanked the inky tresses free. Streaming strands clung to her face and plowed into her eyes, into her mouth like the legs of a soggy spider. With biting panic Raylah shoved back handfuls of hair.

Her bosom heaved as she pushed herself to flee quickly. Lashing branches and trails of fauna coiled as though to catch her. Raylah was frightened. The forest frightened her, what prowled within it frightened her for were something to happen to her, no one would come to her rescue.

Unbidden, an image of her broken body cast upon the forest's floor like refuse arced into her mind. Over the bodice of her grey gown spilled dark fluid, seeping from the slice in her throat. Pea-colored eyes remained open and cloudy as sable twists of hair sought access into her facial orifices, crawling like worms.

You will not rest again Princess.

Who had said that to her? What was wrong with her?

"Surely the fall had addled mine wits," she whispered, pushing through a hoard of tangled vines. "Else this storm be wrought with madness."

Madness. The word produced as much terror as did the horrific mysteries of the forest. For if she was mad, if she was fleeing in madness...

It bore not to contemplate.

"Raylah."

She gasped, turning to glance back over her shoulder and stumbled. It was another exposed tree root. She plunged to her knees onto the sodden loam. Her hands sank into oozing slime as she made to brace her fall..

"Princess Raylah."

Yanking her fingers from the muddy ropes of earth, Raylah whipped her head around. She frantically raked her gaze through the circle of trees and shrubbery for the speaker. Her heart scribbled furiously against her bosom. "Who-who lurks?!"

The storm was quieting as the rain began to slow. Again the voice came as though from far off and quite close. It spoke with accentless, genderless words.

"Thine blade be lost, has it?"

She strained her eyes against the darkness, straining hard to see. The speaker seemed to come from all around her. "Reveal th-thy face!" Brave words though she wasn't sure she wanted to see its face.

"All alone, slain by thine hand!"

Frozen dread rivered over her in a great torrent. Something was creeping back into her mind's brink, something from her past. Red-soaked and wicked.

"The Princess with stained fingers, upon her knees like a whore."

Hastily, she wiped grimy fingers upon her cloak. "I am not!" Her voice trembled like harp strings Around her, the last of the wind stilled and the rain stopped. "Who are you?"

Fratricide thrice.

Someone new spoke in a lower, deeper voice. "The wayward tread in strides of madness."

Raylah froze.

And another voice came, falling between the previous two. "Here begins the tale anew."