“I don’t like the feel of these woods,” Darcy said offhandedly.

She said it more to cut the tension than anything, because they were walking along, single file and silent, between foreboding trees laced with dark moss that made what light could struggle through very dim. Darien rolled his eyes at her, because they had walked far worse paths before without flinching, but Miaela gave her a grateful look for saying what they were all thinking.

“It’s not far now,” Morgan told them defensively.

Once upon a time, there was a castle.

Once upon a time, fairies roamed the land side by side with humans, the only obvious difference the flecks of changing color in their eyes.

That was a very long time ago now.

Once upon a more recent time, there was a brother and sister. Their names were Darien and Darcy, and they traveled the land, having adventures and rescuing people and generally having a good time. Generally.

They wore contacts that made their eyes dark blue.

The house we pulled up in front of was beautiful. The magnificent gardens placed before the large house were full of brightly colored flowers and healthy, green trees. Everything was perfectly trimmed. The house was perfect, too. With large brick walls painted white, the building portrayed orderliness, structure, and wealth.

I gaped at the house as the wagon drove around it. I had never even imagined a building so fine or large! It would cost more money than my daddy would make in his entire life to buy and furnish such a luxurious home.

Something was moving in the forest. Beck didn’t know what it was but it scared him.
He bit his lip, keeping himself from crying out with some effort. Of course there was something moving. Plenty of magical creatures lived in the forest, silence would be impossible, day or night.

For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by clouds. No doubt this love was greatly enhanced by the fact that I grew up in the American Midwest, where some of the most spectacular cloud formations in the world are the daily norm. Hours upon hours of my childhood and teen years were devoted to lying on the ground or sitting on a high vantage point, watching everything from cotton puffs to monstrous storm cells move overhead.

Prologue
My son is making me do this. There he sits now, his arms crossed and looking as if he knows what is best for me. He looks just like his father, the exact same scowl.
I told him I was all right, and that he did not have to worry about my sanity. However, the words went in one ear and out the other. He says he knows I have been crying in my sleep, sometimes screaming ever since my husband passed away. He thinks putting the nightmares and memories that haunt me onto parchment and physically putting them away will ease my mind. He acts like it is a way to forget them.