note: I wrote this short "prologue" 1 and 1/2 years ago, so don't judge! This is simply for entertainment's sake, ok? To see how I've improved, lol.                        

Prologue

A little girl, about the age of six, was running in the back-yard. All was well; from a distance, one could see the glowing face of a proud father, chasing his rosy faced girl who had happened to wear a slightly faded, though still positively cherry-red dress. One could even imagine the birds chirping in the sweetest of ways, of the girl’s shoulder-length, sandy hair flipping slightly in the wind as she ran, and of the father’s ringing, but somehow distant laughter.

No-one on Byrd Street had the slightest idea that little Melanie Snow’s life was about to take such a sharp turn, for everybody were already used to the cheeriness and joy of the little grade-one girl who so dearly loved all of her neighbors – even Mr. Grey, who turned out not a bit interesting, intriguing or polite.                                                                                                                                     But that was where Melanie’s life took her, and no-one could save her from it.

The wind swished around in the morning, trying to block out the sun, which seemed to shine it’s brightest whenever the wind attempted to take over by it’s full force. The birds really did chirp happily, and the father really did laugh, and his daughter’s hair truly swished in the air, until an unfortunate moment during which Mr. Snow’s loveable wife opened up the creamy-white, smoothly-painted window and cried out that someone was knocking on the door.

The tiny girls startled, looking up at her mother with big brown eyes. “Mommy...” she squealed, “mommy, who is by the door? I can feel somefing! Somefing is happening!”

The father exchanged glances with his wife, and she nodded, biting her lower lip so much that the skin around it turned white. The woman’s slightly-pale face had suddenly turned albino white, and she seemed to fiddle with her dress, which she did only when she was nervous or scared.

“Mommy, daddy!”

The two adults turned around and found themselves looking at their daughter with comprehension. Steadily, the father lifted Melanie off her feet, but she continued to squirm and kick – she had never raised such a tantrum.

Suddenly, Mrs. Snow looked up at the sky and gasped. “Alex! She... our girl... no...”

The sky really did seem to darken, and soon giant clouds were swimming in the sky, doubling by the second. Slowly, the dark, stormy clouds started producing heavy rain, that started falling to the ground. But no, they seemed not like ordinary raindrops; for when the first drops fell to the sky, both man and wife seemed to notice how heavy and full of force they were. One could even see the slightly-maddened glint in the pearly water that seemed to rain upon the world with something like revenge, something that the unfathomable monster had been holding back for years. Only it probably hadn’t, for it had rained only last week.

“It isn’t her, is it..? No, no, Alex, Melanie cannot be producing such magic! For that means that... oh, if it does then... it means... she is not our real daughter!”

Alex gaped at his wife. “Yes, she is. I can feel it in her hands...” he tried shushing his uncomfortable-looking daughter and pressed his lips to her forehead. Then, clasped her tiny hand in his. “She is our daughter, that’s for sure. But how does she have that – “

An angry knock on the door was heard.

The father ran into the house, not looking back, but at the same time rocking his daughter back and forth in his hands. When it slightly worked, he shut the door behind himself, and started gulping air feverishly.

“Who’s knocking at our house?” he asked loudly, walking down the staircase alone. The father’s footsteps echoed on the stairs, as Melanie watched, curled up in Mrs. Snow’s hands.

“I have come to give you your Fortune Stone, Mr.”

“I will – “The father reached out for the door-knob, swinging the door open.

Out in the rain, though completely dry, stood a man in his early twenties; he had small, slit-like, black eyes, a small curved mouth and a log nose. The stranger was wearing dark grey, billowing robes, and he was holding a medium-sized, red glowing stone in his hands. “Ruby, I say. Fine stone – Infinite, has one drop of a tear and a couple of tea-spoons of Silver Flower. Mixed and boiled in hot water. Ah...” the stranger extended out a pale hand. “I did my job, did not I?”

“Yes, yes, you did. Thankyou...” mournfully, the father rummaged in his pockets for change. “You go now, and don’t start wondering around here. Right?” at that, Mr. Snow closed the door behind him.

As he did so, he only had time to clasp his wife’s ice-cold arm, and all she had time for was to finish scribbling something on a note; then, quick as a flash, she stuck it to Melanie’s faded dress with a pin. Letting her down, she whispered, “Go to Antonya’s house, and tell her that “the thing” happened today. You hear me, my love -?”

Her voice began distant as she, along with her husband, started shrinking and melting, soon becoming translucent. A wind swished, the sun appeared once again, and the little girl cried.