Every night it is the same nightmare. Every single night. I am always seeing the same memory. It holds pain and sorrow. It was a sort of a reaping day, where the Pure Bloods’ servants would abduct a child from one family as an ‘offering’ for their kindness towards us. They say I’m a cursed child for I was born on this day. I did not cry out nor smile but I sang a haunting melody on each of these days. Nobody really celebrated my birthday for it was a true day of sorrow. 3008 March 3rd, when an eight year old child was singing her haunting melody as she was walking towards her home. She suddenly heard screaming all too familiar, she ran as fast as her leather covered feet could carry her. She stormed through the door and saw a hooded figure beating her mother ‘Where’s papa’ she thought. The figure turned to her, “You lied to me, you do have a child, and how dare you lie to me, after everything I’ve done for you.” The figure grabbed her mother’s throat and twisted it which instantly killed her. She screamed with tears in her eyes as the hooded figure came towards her. The last thing she saw was glowing red eyes. As the girl woke up she noticed that someone or something was sheltering her from the cold in a sort of cell. That thing was a warm body which was hiding her in the corner of the cell. Her gaze fell upon eyes which were as blue as the sky itself. He smiled down at her and walked to the opposite end of the cell and picked up something from a plate. It was so dimly lit you could barely see your hand in front of you. He reached down and handed her a slice of stale bread, at least it was food, much better than what she usually got to eat at home. She hesitantly took it and ate it in record time. He chuckled and asked just above a whisper, “What’s your name little one?” she looked up at him with watery green eyes, “Sir, my name is, Cursen of Bealondore.” She knew all too well it was such a horrible name for child, let alone a girl. His smile immediately disappeared, “Why would anybody name such a lovely little girl that? It doesn’t suit you at all. We need to fix that, my dear.” She smiled; everybody had told her that name suited her. “What’s your name?” he looked up at her with sad eyes, “My name is Canan of Verisha, well what’s left of it.” She gasped because her brother left for Verisha and never returned. “Rest little one for we have a rough day ahead of us and for your name, it should be, Angelique.” She smiled and curled up in the corner; she closed her eyes and was horrified by the images that were flashing before her eyes.
