Chapter One: The Prophecy
Many years passed since the murder of Abbie Darc. Another family, more social, had moved into the Darc's old house after they had gone.
They had one child: a 15 year old girl named Arielle. Arielle occupied Abbie Darc's old room, but the room was now painted green and butterflies were painted on the walls.
Arielle was awakened one night by a sudden noise in her ear.
"I don't want to get up," she mumbled, turning over, but the noise continued. Finally, Arielle was forced to get up. And when she did, she nearly screamed at the sight she saw.
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Arielle opened her mouth to scream, but the girl standing by her bed put her hand over Arielle's mouth, muffling the sound. The girl was tall, she looked about fourteen. She had curly blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back, and her eyes were emerald green.
"W-w-what do you want?" Arielle said when the girl had taken her hand away.
"Come with me, you need to see something." The girl had a soft, soothing voice, almost mesmerizing.
Arielle got out of bed and put on her pink satin bathrobe. "Where are we going?" she demanded.
The girl did not respond.
"Well at least tell me your name."
"Abbie Darc," the girl responded.
Abbie stepped over to Arielle's bedside table and lightly dusted her gloved hand across it. As soon as she had removed it, there was a thin grey layer over the delicate glove. She rubbed her hands together to get the dust over it and started spinning.
"Dirt and dust
soot and grime,
take us back
to the scene of the crime."
All of a sudden, the room changed. Actually, it wasn't even in the room. It was outside, in the local cemetery, where three people stood, their faces lit by candlelight. The first man was skinny, hunched over, and had jet-black hair. The second was rather tall, with flaming red hair, and the third was a woman. She was average height, with bushy, brown hair. They all looked around twenty or twenty two.
"What are we doing here," the red-head asked.
"I told you this already, Ron!" the woman said.
"Well some of us forget over the course of three days, Hermione," Ron replied.
"Will both of you shut up. I want to hear what she has to say," the last one snapped.
"Fine Harry, don't have a cow," Hermione said.
The leaves rustled and footsteps were heard in the distance. An elderly lady dressed in emerald green robes and numerous beads and bangles.
"Hello young ones, I am honoured that you wanted me to be here," she said.
Hermione scoffed.
"Please sit down, Sybil," Harry said, patting the ground next to him.
The old woman sat down and pulled out her crystal ball. Harry scooted over to him and stared into the ball. Sybil put her hands on it, but it wasn't Harry's future that she saw.
Her eyes closed and the white smoke swirled around inside the ball. Eventually it cleared and a picture was revealed: Arielle's room. But there was something unusual there, someone was lying on the floor, dead, but nobody could make out the face. And there was something in her hand (for it was definitely a she, they could see her long hair lying around her head), but they couldn't make that out either. Then, Sybil began to speak.
"On her sixteenth birthday, the only remaining direct descendant of Merlin will pick a single red rose which is fatal to the touch, poisoned by the direct descendant of the sorceress Morgan leFay. She will die and Morgan's power will reign over the wizard world. On her sixteenth birthday…"
By the time she had finished, the three friends had left.