The small town of Ashbourne was in mourning. It had been for the past 6 days. It would be for the rest of eternity.

Grace Elizabeth Hill, beloved daughter, devoted friend, dead.

Dead. Found lifeless on the 15 May 2017 by her best friend Sophie Smith, in the tree house in which they used to play as children. The rope that once hung from the oak tree no longer bore the swing seat they had both once sat, instead it swung her delicate body backwards and forwards, into a dark past that we would soon be enlightened with, and a forgotten future filled with uncertainty.

It is said that Grace was selfish; that by removing herself from the world she was also taking the souls of the people that loved her. Or so Mrs Agnes told the rest of her elderly friends as they played their weekly game of bingo on Wednesday afternoon.

And yet the Postman, delivering his weekly round had believed there to be no note. That Grace had left nothing but a ruined reputation, not only for herself but also for the population of 203 people that inhabited Ashbourne. Or so this was what he told the single mum he had developed a crush on in the past 2 years of delivering post.

So the small town of Ashbourne was in mourning. Except not over the unfortunate death of the 17 year old girl who was a local at the diner across from sunshine cafe, known for her perfect smile and daisy flower crown she wore around her head. 

But for a now shattered visage of a town that had once been completely and utterly perfect.