Forbidden Love - Outlander Fanfiction

Into the world of "bliss"

The pebble in my hands is beautiful. Unlike this little stone in my hands, I had too much to think of. This perfectly smooth object has a minimal amount of jobs. If it breaks, it will not hurt, nor die. It has no troubles in life unless it is chipped but that has no effect but spreading itself around the world, being carried around by the wind or the waters, or perhaps being accidentally ingested...somehow.

I sigh and drop it into the water. 

Plunk.

Glancing around, I notice how dark it has gotten. I must have been here for hours. When I make a decision... I try as hard as I can, no matter how long it will take to make the right one. And looking at the ripples in the dark lake, I knew that I had already made one. I just needed to follow through it. 

I pull myself up and grasp my heels in one hand as I tiptoe on the slippery rocks, attempting to stay in one whole piece. I glance back at the water and wonder how beautiful it would be to just swim through the water, feel it glide against my warm skin and just find peace there. With no pain. 

Ease. I would feel ease.

But that is just as much a lie as every one of the books I had read. I will feel pain and anger at myself. It would not be beautiful. Nothing is ever beautiful really except for fantasies, even they have an ugliness to them, to the fact that they are not true. 

I slip through the backdoor and start to creep up the staircase, hoping nobody will spot me. My father, a known "businessman" had held a birthday party for myself. I had begged him to just take me to the countryside of Scotland but he didn't approve. Instead, inviting his friends and people from my school to promote his brand... that he was a strong man who supplied. And supplied with ease. 

There is no doubt my father had killed someone. He was a drug-dealer and proud of it. I, on the other hand have every negative word tied to him. Nothing is beautiful in him. A party for me is his kindest gesture ever since my mother died. He believes giving me money and everything a father shouldn't is the best he can do. It was hard for me as a child to adapt to normal children who grew up in regular households. They didn't know the difference between methamphetamine and marijuana. They had never been touched, never known how to fight... never known how to defend themselves even. 

My father was a man who shouldn't be here. I never understood "second-chances" or prison. Some people just need to be taken care of. When a little girl has multiple people die of drug overdose or brawls in front of her all because of her father... it is difficult to not want someone to die. Very. All I could do was stay in my locked room every day and read because anywhere I went, people knew my father and what he did. Odd how I thought the house I lived in was a home for most of my life, if anything, my bookshelf was. Nothing else.

I caught a glimpse of one of my teachers snorting cocaine off of the coffee table. I hated my father. He brainwashed so many normal people to believe that life without drugs is no life at all. 

I ran up into my bedroom and locked the door, grabbing all the clothes that I had seen first and stuffed them in the bag. I put one pair of running shoes and a few of my favourite books. As odd as it may seem, I said goodbye to my piano and headed out of the house, drunks and stoned people yelling, "happy birthday!" at me. I ignored them and pushed off who had attempted to touch or hug me, making my way to the front door. I ran before anyone would alert my father and headed out to the street, to the busstop. In the pockets of my bag, I pulled out my card and was ready to jump onto the bus when a woman in a large white dress and long ginger hair mouthed my name, "Ailith."

I'd never seen the woman in my life. Usually I would just walk by and ignore the woman in between the trees but she intrigued me. She had my full attention. Instead of changing into comfortable shoes and slipping on a jumper like I had planned for while I waited for the bus, I found myself crossing the road, looking both ways. I glanced back at the girl, hoping that she wasn't my imagination but she was there. She turned slowly, glancing over her shoulder at me. The short dress flared up but I didn't mind. I took in a breath and sprinted as fast as I could whilst concentrating on my balance to not twist my ankle from the doubleheel. 

Her hair was all I could see, whipping around the tree branches as she traveled through the woods. For some aberrant reason, I thought of the myth of the Scottish. The book I had found in my mother's drawer that I had read many times and dreamed about for years. I started to feel a weird sensation in my stomach. Oddly, I felt ill but my body was still chasing after her. I gasped for air as the pain electrified throughout my body. 

As soon as I had managed to see her whole body in my sight, not the orange curls, I fell onto a large stone, my throat tight and my body aching. What's happening to me?

The woman stopped and bent down as she waved her hand over an object. My vision was blurry, going black and back to normal. Something was completely wrong with me. I saw a little light like a candle as the woman came closer to me. She whispered something under her breath, in a different language and I cried out as she glanced at me, suddenly scared. At my one moment of attempting to escape, I get captured.

Due to my slight obsession with the Scottish myth, I managed to collect that she was speaking in Gaelic. 

The next time I screamed, it was not because she had placed her palm on my forehead but because I was falling down into darkness. My body hit grass and I shivered with shock as I opened my eyes to see the greenest of green grass I had ever seen in what seemed like sunlight. My head lolled to the side just as I heard voices.

I was dying. 

It was true... light does appear when it is time to depart. 

...

I awoke to the sound of yelling. My body squeezed as I swayed. My heavy eyelids opened as I tried to sit up but I was unable to. 

My wrists were bound. 

No. 

Not only my wrists, but my ankles too. 

Gaelic, I identified. 

She brought me here.

"Yer hiding something there." I heard an angry tone.

"Stock. Business that is nothing of yours." 

British.

What the hell is going on?

Dress:

This is not my photo.