The girl with the pendant can not leave her manor. Can a boy help this strange lonely girl?
The manor cast a long grey shadow over the garden. The child’s song could be heard slow and melancholy wafting over the gate. She sang to the roses, her only companions. The girl couldn’t go any farther.
It was said she once had a family; parents, brothers and sisters to keep her company in the large estate. Yet they had left her long ago. There was a time when people would visit her on occasion although now she was very much alone. As she walked the decrepit halls of her prison the pendant hung heavy around her neck knocking beneath her clavicle.
The jewelry held in place a simple stone. Dark and opaque the ugly gem was far too large to be fashionable. It was in a way hideous how the brown swirls resembled petrified amber. The greenish flecks like deceitful winking eyes and if you looked at it away from the light of day it unsettlingly appeared as smooth and pitch as onyx.
In the garden was where the boy had first found her. Walking everyday to and from school he found her visible amidst the tall embonpoint gate and thorny bushes. She felt the pendant pulsing as he spied through the gaps reminding her that she needn’t call out to him. She could not leave this place nor invite someone in. You had to enter of your own accord.
This stipulation is why her injury seemed such a miraculous coincidence. She sat on the grass covered ground stripping the aphids from a tender young rosebud. Her consciousness floating somewhere between the gate and the smear of insect intestines damp across her thumb, her hand slipped pricking a finger on a thorn. At first there was only a slight itching sensation. Then the blood began to pool over the ridges of her fingerprint.
The crimson droplets were barely noticeable amidst the pleats of her full black skirt. The girl merely stared at the gory mess occurring before her. The boy stared wide eyed as the red liquid began to run down her finger and onto her wrist. To his bewilderment she didn’t even bring the wound to her lips.
It may have been the sight of so much blood or he might have believed her incapable of tending her own wounds. Whatever the instigation the boy rushed forward through the gate with an eerie grating creak and crouched at her side.
He wrapped her wounded finger with his shirt, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. The liquid seeped through the fabric and tainted his hands. He looked up from his task to dark large round saucers. He saw in the girl’s eyes such sorrow and loneliness. Confused she looked back. His eye’s gleamed with possibility. The spark of adventure glinted in his pupils a faint glitter of concern dotted his iris. That was how the boy met the girl.