Every night without fail I surrender to my subconscious, plagued repeatedly by the same haunting nightmare. Only now I wake screaming. I'm running out of excuses.

            The dream is lucid like I'm actually reliving a moment. I have fully accepted my death: free falling from a ledge of rocks. The woman's voice calling after me was my sister Leah's.

            The two of us were hiking the Appalachian Trail. We used to live just outside Roanoke and spent our summers camping in the mountains. We were thrill-seekers, as much as teenage girls could be. We were always looking for the next great adventure. So many times we fashioned far off lands with exotic lives and new realities. What a whirlwind to find myself tangled up in one. Leah would love it here.

            Increments, bits and pieces here and there, are reforming in my mind. Most recently, there was an old rustic house with white siding and blue shutters nestled on a ranch. My house.

            I know I am missed and that my mother, father and sister are pining for me back home. It was better before I remembered. I didn't miss them then.

            I stare out at the water. The ocean is therapeutic. It reminds me of Katton family trips to the beach. The lighthouse tower reminds me of the silo on our ranch. Leah and I used to jump in the pile of grain we stocked there during the harvest.

            But there were no seagulls back home on our ranch. Their presence here reminds me just how far I am. Seagulls are ubiquitous here on the coast. They nest in the tower and soar above the cliffs, land on the jetty across the harbor. The first time I found this reservation, the weather was still clement – warm even. The cherry blossom petals on the island were brilliant and rosy. Now, almost all the leaves have fallen.

            A branch crunches behind me. I spin and peer through the gap in the stone; Niko is trotting through the tall grass heading my way.

            I freeze. It's been over a month and a half since my Evaluation but I'm still not allowed to leave the town limits without permission. Busted. William slips down from his saddle and ducks under the lighthouse's crumbling archway.

            "Fancy meeting you here," he says, smirking.

            "How did you find me?" I murmur, pulling at the ends of my flannel.

            "How did I find you?" William laughs. "I pluck you from a forest, but couldn't possibly track you beyond that? Give me some credit."

            "You've been following me?" I glower.

            He's wearing his Garner jacket, my eyes find the familiar patched nametag: G. James.

            "No. The first rule of clandestine getaways... Make sure your boots and saddle aren't coated in sea salt," says William.

            "Oh." I look down. "I'll try to remember that. Why didn't you say anything?" I ask, wondering if he's known all along. "If you knew I was coming here."

            "Say anything?" he furrows his brow.

            "Yes, you know since I'm not ..." I trail off.

            "Ah, you are referring to the illegality of your actions," William taunts. "I really should report you."

            "No! No!" I shout. I try to keep my voice from shaking but it sounds strained. I wonder if I would be in a lot of trouble.

            "No, I need to. I'm aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. You'll be arrested for this you know," he threatens.

            "Arrested? Really?" I mock and raise my hands, "Take me away."

            "Nah." He laughs. "I was only checking up on you. Charlotte's been worried. She says you're distant and you haven't been around the house lately..." William eyes me.

            "Why didn't you tell her? Spare her the worrying?" I offer. "If you knew for the past week where I have been."

            "I had doubts, but I knew you would tell us if you were ready," he vacillates. I stare blankly back at him and wonder what he means.

            "Ready? Ready for what?" I stammer.

            "That you, well," he pauses, "remember."

I gaze up and examine his face. His forehead is furrowed and his smile crooked.

"Who said I remember?" I defend.

            "Well, don't you?" He questions.

            "Not everything." I hesitate and stumble back a few steps. "Only a few things."

            William nods but waits for more. I don't have more to share.

"Have you experienced any flashbacks?" He asks.

            "Flashbacks? No." I try to calm my voice. "Only a nightmare or two. Usually, it is the same one – how I died. Don't pretend you haven't heard me at night."

            "Ev," he whispers. "That cannot have been easy to experience. If you don't mind me prying, how did it happen?"

            I can't help but laugh.

            "Funny question, was it?" William raises his brow.

            "No, no. It's just that, well," I bite my lip. "I never imagined someone would be asking me how I died, let alone that I would have an answer!"

            "I suppose that's fair," he laughs. "First time for everything. If you aren't feeling up to sharing–"

            "I fell." I blurt out. I recall the nightmare of the looming rocky ledge. William listens with caution.

            "That must have been awful," he empathizes. "And your family? Do you remember anything from your home?"

            "No." I lie.

            "How did you even know I remembered? Can you just tell?" I assert.

            "No, I couldn't just tell. I figured that's why you were coming here –to escape and seek solitude." He brushes the hair from his eyes.

            There it is again –his old fashion articulation.

            We stop just before the precipice. The boulders are slippery and I fumble over my feet. He grasps my hand as I fall and his warmth catches me off guard.

            I can feel his arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me. It lingers for a moment as I glide my fingers along his skin. "You should learn to be more cautious."

            I shrug him off but can't shake the excitement I feel from his proximity.

            I stumble backwards and his hands drop from my waist. His warmth disappears from me.

            "I see why you chose this place and why you come here when you do." His words are sincere. "It's a retreat, a place where you can forget you don't belong here."

            "It's the only place where I do belong here." I look away from him.

            "I'm surprised it took you so long to find it." He smiles. "I remember the first time I did."

            "You –You?" I grapple onto my words, stuttering. "Used to come here?"

            He nods. "You didn't think you were the only one to meander across this path, did you?"

            "Of course not," I say. "I just didn't think about anyone else coming here. It's always empty when I come. I guess I just sort of expected no one else cared about it. No one else needs to escape. Plus there's the whole 'off-limits' factor." Nothing is off-limits to him, I remember.

            "You aren't the only outcast here, Ev. There are other wash-ups too." William frowns.

            "Outcast? You?" I snicker.

            "You aren't the only immigrant here," his voice hoarsens. "Even past, integrated refugees are still alienated."

            "But, the town –everyone greets refugees with open arms. And you are a Garner! I would hardly say you are alienated here," I urge.

            "Maybe not alienated by the town," he begins. "Alienated by myself. I've adapted and molded –become an exemplary Kemper citizen. I have even been chosen to Garner –something every young native boy dreams of being called to do." He stops, running his palm through his hair.

            "So, what's the problem?" I ask.

            "Internally, I'm a foreigner." His voice shakes. "Please do not misunderstand me. I love this land. I'm more native than some pure natives! And I feel blessed every day for having been given a second chance –even more blessed that I have a blood brother here," he pauses.

            "But people like you and me and all the other wash-ups in this land –we'll never truly be genuine. We weren't part of the original design of things. I will never be a native –just always a guest in someone else's land –a land I was not intended to live in –a land I wasn't born into."

            "I had no idea you felt that way," I admit. It's true. "You seem perfect here. It's like you were hand crafted for this place. Tin Smyth did say that could happen, right?" I ask, trying to sound hopeful.

            "That's just myth. There's no way to know for sure. It is an incredible gift we have been given. Most people just cease to exist after they die. No one expects to be transported to another era –to dwell in another land and another time. We can start over," he breathes.

            "Will–I had no idea," I begin.

            "It's okay. You're still new to the land. I wouldn't expect you to understand the complexity," he says.

            This is all new to me. The impeccable refugee-turned-native feels out of place –an outcast in a land that has done nothing but love him. He is a refusal.

            Perhaps, he believes I feel the same. And I realize in this moment, it's exactly how I feel. The same. He is speaking to me but also for me, forming the words that my own mind is unable to develop.

            I consider asking more but, not wanting to test my luck, I opt to sway from mental emotions and stick to the physical world.

            "So, if everyone knows about this place –do people from town ever come here? It's too beautiful to just be empty all the time," I say.

            "Every now and then. During the summer months, there's an intense boating event hosted at the Wharf." William points to the tiny wooden dock across the inlet. "Cliff's Cove has the best view for miles," he insists.

            "Cliff's Cove?" I ask inquisitively.

            "Here." William gestures to the cliffs and the grassy meadow behind us.

            "It does have a name. Well it's off the record, but it's penciled in on a few maps. Everyone calls it Cliff's Cove. The land atlas calls this territory the Cheshire Cliffs. Your lighthouse behind us," William indicates the tower, "was once the grand Cheshire Castle. I've seen sketches of the original structure."

            "The Cheshire Castle of the Cheshire Cliffs." I smile.

            I bathe in the beauty of my escape and it hits me. This is my new life –my new land and I know nothing about it beyond Kemper. I wonder how much of what I remember still exists.

            "How large is this land? Will I be able to see it? Can I ever leave here?" I ask William.

            "Its immensity is overwhelming. There are five regions, as you know, and more overseas. You'll be able to leave yes, of course," he says, almost laughing.

            "We won't keep you hostage. Once a refugee matures, that is, when they turn sixteen, they are eligible to make their voyage." William finishes prudently.

            I recite his words in my mind. I'm already 16.

            "Voyage?" My voice betrays me. I am thirsting for knowledge.

            "It is sort of a sole exploration of the land. Refugees can start a life and settle where they wish," he sounds hesitant.

            "So, refugees can leave? They don't need to live in Kemper forever?" I sound too hopeful. I wonder what else is out there.

            "No, refugees don't need to reside in Kemper Square forever," William's voice descends. "Many choose to start new lives elsewhere. It is common for them to migrate to the region of land where they resided in their former life."

            "So, could I leave now? If I wanted to?" I restrain the eagerness from seeping through my words.

            "Not exactly." He frowns. "You'll need to discuss that with Tin Smyth. I'm afraid with mature wash-ups the process is different. You haven't even had your re-Evaluation yet."

            "I just want to know what else is out there," I admit. "I just want to know the land I'm living in. I want to see beyond the town limits."

            "Well, Ev, you managed to stumble across this place," he teases.

            "You aren't going to bust me, are you? Charlotte will flip," I tell him.

            "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," William promises.

            "So, what about the rest of the land? What's it like? Is it like the older land –the one I'm used to?' I question.

            "From what I've heard, it's similar to the old Americas. The continent was transformed and sculpted by the natural disasters. Centuries of damage resulted in a new landform," he concludes. "A lot of things survived –the Grand Canyon, the Black Hills, some foundations of old cloud scrapers."

            "Sky-scrapers," I correct.

            "Mmhm, those. Gorham relocated to the east coast, built on ruins of a former civilization. It was easier to build on a foundation that already existed. It's all in the atlas."

            "Will you show me it? The atlas?" I ask.

            "I think we can arrange something," he says.

            "I will hold you to that."

The air grows chilly and damp as we turn our backs to Cliff's Cove.

"Does is get any easier?" I ask William.

            "Yes," he exhales. "You know that sinking empty feeling? It may never fully heal but over time it will begin to hurt less."

            Less. Less I can handle.

            The trail shrinks behind us as we wind closer into town. The smells of bonfire and pine find our nostrils as we trot past Cedar Lodge and Mill Pub. Lights twinkle inside and out the front door, which has been propped ajar.

/  /  /

"And I told you, Evelyn, Tin Smyth needs you to have the application papers done by tomorrow," Charlotte nags. "Are you even paying attention to me?"

            "Mmhm." I exhale.

            Charlotte has been on my back about filing application papers. Before I can officially begin my application, I need to fill out a form and sign it.

            This must be kept on record for my re-Evaluation. Charlotte drones on about being a nurse and working with refusals and how she'd never be able to handle it. I nod and agree, mindlessly stacking pumpkin shaped cookies.

            "First thing tomorrow, then? You'll have your application ready. I want it on the counter," she insists.

            "Okay," I confirm. "First thing tomorrow. On the counter."

            "Perfect. Now that that's settled, come and help me finish these for the Hunt." She tosses a pile of ribbons my way. "They're expected at Wood in an hour."

Today is Halloween. Addie Hopplebee baked almost six-dozen batches of cookies and tarts and Charlotte volunteered us to sort them. My thumbs have been fumbling over tiny orange ribbons since daybreak.

            The day begins with a scavenger hunt that leads the children to different places throughout Bramble Court. The Hunt culminates in the courtyard with treats and tales of hallow's past. Then, as they sky darkens and night settles in, the campfire starts.

            I could pretend not to remember anything from Halloween. Either way, William is insisting I attend the fire. It's my first official holiday in Kemper and I need to experience it.

            "Ready?" William peers at me.

            "You bet."

            He relieves me of ribbon duty and with good timing; my carpal tunnel is acting up.

            "Let's go."

Out front of Wood, children prance around in black cloaks casting spells with twig wands.  Just behind the courtyard, set near the edge of the brush, is a towering stack of wood –twigs, tree trunks, branches, you name it, all thrown into the bonfire pit.

            "I'm not sure it's big enough," I quip.

            "This fire should blaze for hours, with hardly any smoke. I made sure to keep away leaves and moss." William admires the lofty pile of kindling.

            "You did all this?"

I observe the hundreds of pounds of timber before us, making small mounds across the lawn. It must have taken weeks.

            "Not just me. All the Garners do it. Sort of our contribution. We gather the wood from deep in the forest," he tells me. "The thicker the trunks, the longer they will burn. We didn't prepare and bring it all here just so we could run out half way through sharing stories."

            "And speaking of sharing stories... I don't have anything prepared." I avoid eye contact, embarrassed by my lack of what Charlotte calls 'scary spirit'.

            "You know how Charlotte has been looking forward to it," he taunts.

            "I just haven't had sufficient time to regain my memories of Halloween." I swear.

            "I suppose we can let you off the hook –just this once. Next year, you'll be fully responsible for a riveting story." He smiles.

            "Deal." I smirk as we cross into the courtyard.

            "Charlotte isn't going to be pleased by the news." He warns in a playful manner.

            "When is Charlotte ever pleased?" I laugh it off.

            The plaza is bursting with busy holiday goers. The Confectionary is swamped with people. The prized ginger-fig cakes disappear as they come. Every time a fresh batch comes out, the sweet fragrance permeates the entire plaza. We pass natives and tourists alike.

            Eyes lock on mine from every direction. I catch most of them staring, but I guess it's only second nature. I'm new and they want to see me.

            Nicolas informed me of what to expect from the visitors. My skin is pale and foreign to their deep unblemished skin. They move fluidly and with natural ease and I am constantly fumbling over my own feet. I'm like an alien to them. I'm their polar opposite.

            We cross the Square to the dirt lane behind the hospital. Cedar Lodge is sparkling, light pouring from every window. The front doors open and a vociferous guffaw echoes.

            "With the first surge of tourists, the lodge will be packed tonight. Mill Pub is going to be jammed as well," William proclaims. "Are you able to handle all of it?"

            "Yeah, I should be." I nod.

The front doors are thick and heavy with the scent of balsam and cedar. We cross the threshold and the floorboards creak beneath us. The room is dark and cozy.

            A polished wooden bar stretches along the wall. I can tell from the end it's an ancient tree trunk on its side, with seats carved right into the same piece of wood. Deep maroon tapestries cover the wall, separated by cedar posts and hanging oil lamps. A rustic stone grate with a crackling fire occupies the corner.

            A jumbling crowd of natives lurks underneath the archway that connects the lodge to the pub.

            Two of the men are tall and muscular, like William and Nic, wrapped in black traveling cloaks with matching boots. They have dark brown hair and tan features. A shorter man, balding and chubby, waves a mug of ale at his companions. Drops of foam speckle the floor.

            "Oh Murph, no!" The man incoherently babbles as we pass by.

            A thin lanky woman accompanies them –paler than the others but still flawlessly native. She's wearing a brown woven sweater dress with elevated boots. They resemble the boots Charlotte had made for me.

            "Nadalia! Na-dal-ia," The slightly inebriated man sounds out her name.

            The woman's eyes leave her companion and quickly spot us crossing the room. Her eyes instantly fall on my hand in William's. Her lips curl down and her nose scrunches up.

            "Come on. There's a table against the wall that's unoccupied." William tightens his grip on my hand and pulls me toward the fire. He ignores the woman.

            The table is small and uneven. The fire is warm and the pub smells of ale, firewood, and smoked beef. Here in the corner I have a view of the entire room. Closer to the door is another cluster of tourists –some with native skin and others paler than me.

            Half and half.

            William stares uneasily at the door, waiting for someone to enter. I canvas his face –watching his eyes wander around the room and his mouth curve with a smile.

            "Can I interest you in one of Ced's famous ales?" William asks as he catches me staring.

            "Sure." I nod. "Something different from the one at home," I utter.

            "I know just what to get you." He stands and heads in the direction of the polished wooden bar.

            Ced is pacing hastily behind the counter, carrying barrels and bundles of cloth. Two other men are standing next to William, one on either side. One spots William's Garner jacket and instantly shakes his hand.

            "Ha–ha," I whisper to myself.

            I remember him telling me every young man yearns to be a Garner. William smiles his usual charming, dashing smile and returns a few minutes later with two mugs of rosy ale.

            "Two Cherrywoods," he says as the mugs land on the table with a thump.  "Cheers." He raises his glass. "To your first holiday in Kemper."

            "Cheers!"

            I raise my glass and gulp down half the smooth ale. It tastes earthy and fruity –like smoked cherries.

After two hours, we leave the pub behind, cross the courtyard, cut through the plaza and head to the bonfire.

            "It's going to be crowded at the pit. Folks love a good scare." William warns.

            "Who doesn't?" I smirk, my palms cupping a mug of steaming ginger cider.

            Groups of tourists and citizens alike are all heading the same direction. There must be two hundred people gathered behind the plaza –the most people I have seen in a single gathering since I've arrived. I notice that everyone is at least 16.

            William and I are on the younger side on the crowd. I see Tin Smyth standing before the tall pines behind the pit. He is in casual attire and I wave as I catch his eye. We also run into the Hopplebee's, Garner Brynne, and Tria.

            "Evelyn!" She squeals in her usual idiosyncratic manner as she skips over to William and me. This is the first time I have seen Tria outside of the Refinery. She seems –normal.

            "Hi Tria, how are you?" I smile and wriggle free from her hug.

            "Splendid. This is my favorite festivity..." she rambles on, but I don't listen. I watch her face illuminate as she talks about Hallow's Eve. "Anyway, how are you?"

            "I'm doing well, thank you." I smile.

Just then, Parker clumsily jogs up to our circle, staring at Tria, and still clutching a mug of ale.

"Hi, there," he beams.

            Tria looks at him and blushes. Ale drips down his plaid coat.

            "Hey Parker. Enjoying yourself much?" I revel in my sarcasm.

            "Hey, it's all part of the party. Have to keep the native girls entertained." He turns to a large cluster of giggling girls sitting by the fire. All beautiful.

            "Don't remind us," William scowls.

I take note of the native touristy girls and wonder if it weren't for me, would William have his own fan club? I resent the idea.

            "Will you join us?" Parker looks at Tria.

            "Um," she opens her mouth, blushing deeper.

            "KATRIA!" A girl shouts from across the pathway.

            "I'm –I'm coming Adara!" Tria hollers back, looking relieved.

            "Well, see ya then," Parker says.

            "I'll see ya later," Tria utters to me.

            "Yea, see ya."

            The girl next to her is short and lean with a sheet of black hair like midnight velvet. She is beautiful and poised and pairs well with the tall man at her side. I remember seeing him before. Garner Ethan Edems scoops Adara into his arms.

            The tiny space is packed with nearly 150 people. A few of the more daring tourists even sit on the ridged benches directly in front of the fire.

            "They had best not ruin that," William growls. I remember William telling me how long it took him and Parker to build the ledge.

            The rest of the attendees jumble together, creating a crescent-shape huddle around the fire. The sky is dark and ominous, aside from the yellow harvest moon illuminating the grounds below.

            "It's about to start. Come on."

William pulls me toward the front. We settle between Nicolas and Charlotte and Parker and Riley.

"Welcome. Welcome." Garner Brynne addresses the crowd.

            "I'd like to welcome every one of you to Kemper Square's traditional Hallows Eve ritual..."

He initiates the ceremony by throwing offerings to the spirits into the fire. Crops, pine needles, herbs and an assortment of oils and extracts are all tossed into the fire, devoured by the hungry flames.

            People cheer. I follow along. He then welcomes everyone to the 500th annual Hallow Haunting and recites the ancient history of the traditions.

            "In the year 2100, the world's continents were annihilated by a string of cataclysmic natural disasters. The few humans who survived the catastrophe retreated into hiding, recouping from the effects of nature's rampage. It took another century for the land to return to an inhabitable state and another four centuries to make it out of the Dark Age," he recites.

            He goes on to explain how the land was reborn and alive with teeming forests, rolling hills, and marvelous oceans. It was returned to its original, intended state. Many believe the spirits restored animals and life to the land. It is here the tradition began.

            The new land surpassed its former glory, becoming more than any memory could tell. In the first year following the rebirth, the remaining people gathered together in the farthest corner of the land –a region at the time called New Eden, but that was later renamed Wenonah.

            Brynne continues and divulges the first haunting legend –a story of years past involving an army of mutant refugees with a certain apocalyptic behavior.

            "...The feral horde of rabid refugees plagued the land and sought to destroy it. After days and days of maddening starvation, the famished refugees assembled in the pits of the land and overthrew the commanding infrastructure..."

            "How lovely." I whisper to William.

"And completely offensive to refugees," he jokes.

            "They feasted upon the corpses of officials and natives alike, impaling their heads onto long sharpened branches and displaying them in town centers for all to see. For a month this savagery continued..."

            "He tells this every year," William whispers over to me. "The details never manage to remain the same."

            "It sounds like it was a great time," I joke.

            Brynne finishes up shortly, leaving the audience with a gruesome ending involving mass cannibalism.

            Tin Smyth recalls an old Halloween legend about gory slayings of refugees. Luckily, Ced redeems the refugees' tarnished reputation when he tells of a ravenous band of natives, so starving that they feasted off the first refugees of the land.

            "A lot of these stories seem to involve people eating each other," I say sideways to William.

"You've noticed, have you?" He laughs. "Some say cannibalism is just another Kemper tradition."

            We both laugh off the unfavorable looks from those around us.

I'm not certain whether these are factual stories or mere urban legends. An elderly woman, one I'm not sure I've seen before, takes the stage.

            "Sage." William nods toward the woman, reading my mind. "Tells the same tale every year, but always different. It is of a curse said to have been placed upon this era."

            "A curse? You expect me to buy into a curse? Please." I smirk. "I hardly believe in time-travel."

            Sage situates herself in front of the crowd. She has long graying hair that frames her face like vintage curtains concealing a fragile window. Her skin is dark and her eyes two hooded orbs of light, reflecting the fire before her. I can feel everyone grow tense with anticipation.  This is the tale everyone waits for, the one the crowd is most eager to hear.

            "Long ago, at the dawn of the Dark Age, before the Cord Wars, as every story starts, there was a single side. And there was peace. The Destruction had settled. In another land, there sat a grand castle just beyond the sea. There were born two sisters –the first sisters of this new land. They grew together as twins and as friends. As they grew older, they both fell in love.

"One sister fell in love with a handsome young man from a strong, surviving family.  This pleased their father, the King. The other sister fell in love with an outsider, a boy who had appeared in the land as though from air. This outraged the King and he would not allow their union. So the second sister planned to run away with the boy. Longing for affection from the distraught parents, her sister betrayed her twin's trust and told their father of the plan.

            "Fueled by disgrace, the King hunted them down and did not spare even his own daughter's life. But before she died, it is said the young girl gave birth to a baby boy."

I cling to her every word just as I cling to the edge of my seat, her tired voice as entrancing as the flames.

"Legend has it, the Ancient Order smuggled the baby out of the kingdom and across the sea to this very land beneath our feet. This baby would be the light, born of the sister who found true love. But the Ancient Order believed there must always be balance. And so they cursed the other sister and the curse fell into her womb. The hearts of her and her child turned black, cold as stone. The cost of betrayal. So the sisters' bloodline became two, so became the light and the dark, destined to feud, destined to maintain the balance of the era."

Walking home I stayed close to William, genuinely spooked by the gruesome stories and misshaped shadows on the pathway.

            "What did you think?" William's voice is quiet above my head.

            What did I think?

            I don't answer but he doesn't ask again and for that I am grateful. My mind is elsewhere now, replaying tonight's words on a loop.

Sage's story resonated somewhere deep inside me like an old fairytale I heard long ago was waking from a dormant slumber. It was unbelievable but it was also the most real story I've ever heard.

            "What ever happened to her?" I ask William. "The sister from the story? The cursed one?"

            "Liked that one, did you?" He asks. "No one knows. Suppose they were just two girls, weren't they? Two sisters made into a bedtime story."

            "So nothing about it was real? It was all made up?" I ask grimly.

            "There's no way to know, is there? After the Destruction, the Dark Age lasted nearly 500 years, Evelyn. And the Cord Wars were more than half of that. Loads of stories came out of it." William looks at me sideways.

            "What about the Ancient Order? Did people believe in them? Balance keepers and all that..."

I could really use a history class for this era right about now. William almost laughs.

            "The Ancient Order is said to be... You wouldn't believe it," he says, watching me sideways.

"Try me," I press.

"After the Destruction, before the Cord Wars, before anything really, it is said that stars fell from the heavens. Star-souls we called them, born from celestial power."

"And what did these stars or souls do?" I question.

"Legend has it, they came to manipulate fate on earth. A star-soul is destiny in human form. Think of it like –this is all a grand show and they are the puppeteers behind the scenes." William glances at me.

"What happened to them, then? Where did destiny go?" I tease.

"No one knows, do they? Any mention of them died with the Resolution of the Cord Wars. I suppose fate doesn't always want to show itself." I feel William shift at my side.

"You're right," I laugh. "I don't believe it."

"Now, it's just an ancient story about an ancient order casting an ancient curse," William says matter-of-factly.   

            "Right. A story. Two bloodlines forged from the Original Sisters, destined to feud, cursed to keep the balance." My words fall faint on my ears. William stops in his tracks with mild surprise.

            "I thought you hardly believed in curses?" William teases.

It is way after midnight; the sky is bright with stars guiding us along the dirt road. I stare up at the James' house as it shimmers under the moonlight.

            Just as I'm on the brink of accepting my new life and relinquishing my hope of returning home, a heavy weight befalls me –knocking me to my knees.

            A strange icy sensation.

            The air is cold and freezing, but I'm burning up. Intense heat is burning in my core –radiating from my body. I can barely breathe. The wind is knocked out of me. My vision blurs and a static humming echoes in the air, pounding in my eardrums. My legs turn to jelly, wobbling beneath me.

            "Evelyn? Are you ill? Evelyn?"

I hear William call my name again and again, but he is far away and I'm somewhere else now.

            "Willia– Wil–" My throat stings with each breath.

            The static is back, but louder now, pulsating to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I know it's coming from inside me and I know only I can hear it.

Swarms of color flash before me, spinning faster and faster until it all goes black. My face collides with the cool gravel that just a moment ago was beneath my feet.