Retaliation

Prologue

Prologue

Music choice: War Pt. II - Former Vandal

February 15, 1913

Danielle Blake

I was walking down what seemed to be a never-ending, white, empty hallway. Eventually, a young man appeared out of thin air. His light brown shaggy hair ran a little past his ears, while his piercing emerald-green eyes locked onto mine.

I immediately felt self-conscious. I was wearing a thin white cotton dress with a light lace trim I didn't recognize and my dark brown hair fell down the bottom of my spine

"Just keep going straight ahead. Everything's going to be all right. It'll make sense in a minute." He said. His voice sounded cold and distant, echoing off the walls, yet his words were filled with warmth and comfort.

I nodded, walking past him, when I realized I never got a name. I turned around to ask, but he had vanished. I had a feeling I would see him again soon.

I reached a set of double doors. I stared at them for a minute, wondering why I hadn't seen them until then. Finally, I raised my arms up, pushed the doors open, and I walked in.

I walked up to a semi-circle, surrounded by complete strangers. There were eight people seated at the table forming this partial circle, six men and two women. Sixteen eyes stared down at me, judging me, while murmured questions spread.

"She is not what we expected."

"She's definitely different."

"Are you sure this is her?"

I could easily tell that my small, simple look was not what they had in mind. But what was it that they expected? Someone strong? Someone exceptionally brilliant? A man? They were whispering their thoughts as if I was a highly important person. Then I heard the one thing I never thought I would hear.

"She is the one, I'm sure of it. She will be our Erue." A dark, sulky voice whispered over the other soft-spoken thoughts. What the hell is an Erue?

"Are you 100% sure?"

"Positive."

I did not want to hear any more judgments or predictions of my future. I am in charge of my life, no one else. Except maybe Patrick.

"What am I doing here? Where am I? Who are you? Where is my husband? I have to go home. He needs me." I said, infuriated with the endless questions.

"You do not know then?" an older blonde man asked.

"Kn-Know what?" I responded hesitantly.

"Think back to what happened before you got here." He answered. "What do you remember?"

What had happened? I closed my eyes and thought hard.

I had just arrived home around five o'clock at night and silently closed the door, locking it. I am wearing a basic blue cotton dress, with simple embroidery around the edges. I am nineteen, and married to Patrick Blake, a twenty-one year old man I've known for two years. At the time, I had no idea of his violent nature. I knew he could be a bit controlling, and he would have sudden outbursts of anger. I've seen him get so angry he would punch a hole in our wall. He would break things, like dishes and glasses if he did not get what he wanted. There would also be the rare occurrences of him yelling at me for things out of my control, like being late or not being able to make him dinner. I feared him, but was never prepared for what he was truly capable of.

I had just returned from a women's rights rally, which my husband unfortunately, is strongly against. I never mentioned to him that I went to these rallies, for if I did, he would never let me go. Thinking of the rally next week, I walked into the kitchen and turned the lights on.