Prologue: Stories Untold
You would know me as Rita, maybe, but not as Ashes. Ashes was a girl from long ago, a part of stories untold. But even in the stories, I am not given the grace of a name. Rita, like her alias Ashes, was just blown away and forgotten in a gust of wind. Agatha was dusted off with the careless brush of a chimneysweep's broom. Lena is in a dead fire. And Fenella is miserable.
The story you know is the one untrue, blown out of proportion by the countless telling of many mouths and one girl's lies. The story has become a tale of magic in many forms only because every once in awhile, people have need for a tale that can discourage what happens in real life. Lies, shallowness, false hopes, replacement, need, death, greed. For if the tale were told truthfully, that is what it would be about. For what is a story but something told for entertainment? And what is entertaining about life?