The Immortal Chronicles | | b o o k 2

prelude

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IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK ONE : prelude

. . .

Clarity is a gift, and when it occurs, it must be seized and held on to for as long as its short lived existence lasts. Vene Aminoff's current state of clarity was tragic indeed, and it urged her to continue despite how much her eyes stung in the crisp air of winter. She smudged her eye against her shoulder as she rounded  the corner of the street. The decision was made—she shouldn't be crying over it any longer.

The building was no more than a block away, and she nearly turned back before she had the chance to even cross the cobble street. No, she thought, it's better this way. She'd never be able to care for a child, not in the state she was in now, not with the life she lived. Her cruel world held no place for such an innocent babe.

Her father thought it was the right thing to do—though, he was the one to suggest drowning the child in the tub just a month or two ago. Her girl wasn't even born yet by that point, but now it was settled. No matter how crude or gruesome her father's past was, neither one of them could bring themselves to smother the baby in blankets, or drown her in a tub, or leave her in the bitter frost to freeze her heart solid.

But Vene hesitated at the steps to the orphanage. She stood at the base of the stone stairway, aware that it was some ungodly hour in the middle of the night—early, early morning. It was dark except for the one street lamp that had remained lit during the violent windstorm just a few hours before. The name of the orphanage was engraved in the stone above the two massive, large oak doors: ETHELDA'S ORPHANAGE.

At first, Vene couldn't find the strength to breathe until she heard the soft, tender whine from the bundle of blankets in her arms. Vene wasn't more than a child herself—she could barely even call herself fifteen years of age.

Her feet found the courage to guide her up the steps and to the front door. There was an elaborate iron knocker bolted to the surface, and she slammed it down twice before waiting, a few steps away from the door as if preparing to run as soon as it opened.

No one answered, at least, not until her fourth and final knock when a series of locks came undone on the other end. When the door opened at last, an elderly woman with a shock of white hair on her head peered through the open crack. A waft of warm, soft air graced Vene's skin, and made it even more difficult to ignore how much her eyes and nose were stinging red.

"What's it's name?" the woman asked when Vene couldn't speak. She still couldn't, and managed a weak shrug in reply. "Boy or girl?"

She cleared her throat, cradling the babe closer to her. "Girl."

The woman took a step out into the cold and tugged at the blankets shielding the babe's face from the cold. Her eyes were closed, her hair already jet black. Like her mother. "Lovely, she is," the woman commented. "I can take her for you, miss. She'll be in good hands."

A cry escaped Vene's lips then as the woman nestled her arms against hers, and swept her child out of her arms for the first and last time. The woman only looked at Vene once more, unable to look her in the eyes because Vene's attention was solely on the babe, whose eyes were now open and welcoming the stranger as her new mother.

I never wanted this to happen...