The first book in the Immortal Quest Series.
I've never been so scared as I was the day I died. It was a cold, illuminated moon-lit night, and the trees in which towered over most of the towns olden architecture held the crimson and orange colors of a seasons change. Someone had been following me for most of the week prior, and when I turned the corner of Alaebath and Main a lone cloud shifted along the sky engulfing the ground below in darkness, and then there he was. Standing in front of me in a ragged mess of gray and black; his eyes drawing me in with an inescapable force which seemed to hold no end.
Finally I was able to break away as a voice of another person shattered whatever trance he had cast upon me. I ran, and like something out of every poorly written horror film, when the dust settled and their voice faded in time, I was caught and brought to meet my fate. At the age of seventeen my family and friends buried my lifeless body deep within hollow ground. Beaten and put through hell, they were forced to say their goodbyes to an empty grave; the sight of me too terrible to bear. It mattered not in the end. For to them it was still just an empty casket. My soul, like other loved ones past, was no longer with them, but in a better place. Forced out as I breathed my last breath, and sent up to meet our maker. . . or at least, that is what should have been.
Instead, as the dirt fell into place, and the day gave way to a new light. Seasons pasted for what would drag on to become four years past. That was before the earth had had it's fill of me, and I awoke alone and forgotten six feet below a world I couldn't reach. There was no sound, no inkling of noise above for weeks, and then there was everything all at once. A voice so loud it rattled the ground with a haunting quake. The voice was that of a girls, sounding not much older than I had been when my life was stolen from me. It came in a wave of hot white light, which consumed me and gave me strength. Strength, to which I used to break free from my eerie grave. With a crackling, ungodly force, the casket gave way the instant I reached up to pry it open. The soil surrounding it exploding up into the sky like confetti.
It felt unusually weak, the ground, as I pulled myself up and out from below. My arms weary, at first, but soon I would get over that. Finally free, I rolled along onto my back staring up at the night sky; the moon and it's stars seemingly brighter than usual. A gush of wind hit my cheeks drawing my attention along with it's direction, yet I felt nothing. Not a brisk winter shiver, not the humid summer heat. I felt nothing but the bristled tips of unsettled dust caught within its own inevitable fate. It was then I saw him, again. Lying there atop a girl whose features held a grim resemblance to my own. He wore a twisted mask of a man he must have once been, but through pain and suffering warped him into something far darker than anything imaginable. . .
I've never been so scared as I was the day I died. It was a cold, illuminated moon-lit night, and the trees once again held the crimson and orange colors of a seasons change much like they did then. But as a lone cloud shifted, engulfing us within a shadow of darkness, I found something far worse than death to be scared of. Me. I feared myself. For as the cloud passed, and the moon's light returned, even death itself seemed less of a fate than of the one that lay at my feet. The mans body twisted and mangled beyond reason, and there was blood- blood, everywhere. The girl lying dead from his hands, looked to be asleep. A tiny prop in a display of something much larger than itself, something much bigger than the simple prop. But it was then I spotted the tiny flaw in the grand scale of things that tipped the balance of it all. Her dress. Her long flowing red dress, only in which now I see was flipped up between her legs in a horrid, jumbled mess.
It was then I saw my fate through her own, and fell to my knees and wept for the both of us; wept for the man who had done this to us, and who had suffered a punishment befitting for what he had done. Shortly after, the sky seem to break into a mourning entirely of its own at the loss of another innocent life, as rain came down in buckets, washing away the gruesome scene as if it had never happened. Although before it could, I took the mans lifeless limbs from the spot they had lay, and once again filled the hollow grave with a body for it to keep at rest- only this time, I prayed he would stay. Then returned to the girl, and resettled her dignity in what little ways I could for having had just been killed in a way meant to be left for all to see.
According to her license I found in her purse, her name was Eloise Jamie; she lived at nineteen nineteen Desperado Drive, and she was seventeen. Just. Like. Me. She had long, wavy, blonde hair, and hazel eyes. She was five two, and an organ donor. I carried her home to the address on the pale plastic card, and waited until her parents came to the door and found their baby girl. I watched her mother break down in tears, while her father pulled her into his arms and embraced her lifeless corpse. It was in that moment I found myself wondering how my parents would have reacted if they had been able to see me once more. If my mother would have cried the way this girl's was, or if my father would have even cared at all. My life had not been a perfect one to say the least, but I would like to think that if somehow they could have, that this would have been how they reacted. That they would have cried, and held me one last time. If not for my sake, but for theirs; a way of truly telling someone goodbye.
I left when the police sirens were audible, and before anyone could have seen me there- not that they would have believed their eyes if they had. In a normal world when people die they stay dead, yet somehow I didn't. For what purpose, I wasn't sure, but had every intention of figuring out. One thing I did know, was that never again would I be prey. Seeing what I did to that man told me everything was about to change. With my death, so did my formal life die along with it. No longer am I the old Arya Sullivan; seventeen and worrying over meaningless High School drama, but Arya Mae Sullivan. . . The girl who would live another life, a second chance sort of life; one I fully intend on making use of.