THE DISAPPEARANCE OF RAVEN SKY ISLAND
My name was Evanegelliene Hope Archette. I was born a starlet, a pin-prick of light in the midnight sky. Different from all the others. Of course, I didn't know it then. Nobody knew what was to come. We existed on a minuscule dot of land amid the tormenting, black waters of the Arctic Ocean. Our home, small as it was, was the most incredibly beautiful thing any being could lay their eyes upon. Not that any other being ever did. Our island has always been secret, held scandalously inside the heart of the deathly Arctic, until now. Now is the only chance I have to tell you all I know before it is too late. My time has come. At the beginning and as it is now, I remain no more than a fistful of golden dust amongst the other tales you have heard. Hold this tale deep in your heart. Enter; Raven Sky Island.
My eyes opened the twenty-fifth of May, feeling no different from any other. The crispness of the early morning air was streaming through the window, which was slightly ajar. Although the island is located in the heart of the Arctic, the weather here is quite marvelous. The winters stunningly beautiful with the heaps and heaps of glittering snow, and the summers were jubilant, warming so much that snow seemed impossible, the mountains surrounding the island almost overcome with the steaming jungle of fresh fruit and harvest. I pushed aside the thin cotton sheet covering my naked body and strode across the sandy floor of my bed chamber. My bedroom wasn't very big, it's bamboo and papyrus walls were only about as big as a goat pen or two.
I strode to the long carved wooden box which held most of my possesions and found a long shard of glass, mirror, my father had said it was called, and my ivory-tusk carved hairbrush. I set them on the small thatch table Aunt Lucinda had woven for me and opened the large door at the far side of my room. Inside were dresses of all sorts; long, short, colorful, plain, all made of different fabrics. I picked out my favorite, a dress that fell just below my knees, made of the softest cotton. It had the most beautiful flowers on it, swirled in intricate patterns: red, pink, blue, and white. But it was most special because it was my mother's.
After changing into the dress, I sat down in front of the small table, holding the mirror in front of me. I took my brush and pulled it through my light golden curls that bounced as I moved the bristles over them. I sighed, looking for a long time at my slightly angular face, pale pink lips, and azure-blue eyes, ringed in long, coal black eyelashes. Today, a day like any other, was life changing for me. Because, today was my seventeenth birthday, the day my true identity was revealed.
Not that I knew what exactly it was, the council decided it, and much of my future. So my life literally depended on today.
And I was quite a bit nervous.
I left my room, walking down the chiseled spiral staircase that led from my room (the only upstairs room), to the living room, which networked into the other rooms; the kitchen, dining room, washroom, father's room, Aunt Lucinda's room, and the patio. Upon entering the living room, I was greeted with a wonderful surprise that made my heart swell with joy. My father was seated on our plush couch looking modest as always, and Aunt Lucinda stared at me with a smile in her eyes. There, standing upon a pedestal on the small coffee table, was a beautifully decorated cake. It rose three tiers, every tier covered in delicate icing and candy flowers. At the very top was an ivory carved figurine, and below her the words: Happy Birthday to Our Love Always, Evanegelliene. I knew it could only be the works of my father, a very accomplished baker, who rarely had the time of day to bake a muffin, nonetheless a stunning cake.
"Oh, Daddy!" I cried, leaping into his arms. He laughed a melodious laugh I hadn't heard in ages. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" "Oh, my little Evie, where has she gone?" He faked a sigh. "They grow up so fast..." He said, wiping away fake tears. I giggled. Sometimes he could be so corny. "But, you know, I'm not the only one to thank," He said, nodding toward Aunt Lucinda, who was whittling at a piece of wood. "You know, she carved that very accurate figure of you atop that cake." I walked over to Aunt Lucinda. "Oh, thank you for the wonderful carving Aunt Lucinda!" I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. She looked up from her work, a small parrot, and grinned at me. Extending her hand, she stroked the length of my jaw-bone. "Evanegelliene..." she murmured. That was usually all she said, considering her age, which was ninety-four years, eleven months and two days. She counted every night before bed. Years ago, she had had an accident that had put her into a coma for two years and it was a miracle she survived at all. Ever since, she had been a little fuzzy about most everything.