Tsepmet

Prologue

              George Fitzgerald Whitney the Third, or George for short, peered out into the night air and sighed, breathing out the cold breath that had been stored up inside of him and breathing in a new fresher breath. His window confined him inside his 2 story Victorian house like a cage, a cage he wanted to break free from.

              George was 15, with slightly longish sandy hair, almost tawny. His eyes, perhaps the most extraordinary about him, were a deep oaken color, like a dappled fawn's coat. 

              And he was bored. So bored. Sighing again, he slipped off the windowsill, but not before catching a glimpse of something gauzy flashing by his candy- paned windows. What was that? He ran to his window, but whatever it had been, it was gone. All that remained were the night stars twinkling like laughing eyes in the sky.

              He slipped under his covers, and was just about to drift off into the sweet enfolds of sleep when the first thunder shook the sky to pieces. Crash! George literally flew out of his bed as the combined forces of the wind and lightning shook the house. Glass shattered and freezing rain sloughed into the room in a whirlwind of hail. George was just about to scream out for his parents when he realized his paren'ts weren't there. They were gone on a business trip to Waterlooville and were two hours away, since George lived in London.

              For that reason, George didn't actually consider screaming when the figure began to climb through the window. Really, it was more of a conscious choice not to scream than anything. It was like the age-old question, 'if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to see it, does it make a sound?" Well, there was no one to hear him now. He was alone.

              "Who's there?" George said, feeling conflicted on whether to run, or to stay and see what this creature was. 

              The creature didn't answer. It was humanoid in shape, with wierd, wing shaped arms coming out its body and gossamer golden hair drifting down from what appeared to be its head. Lightning flashed outside, alluminating golden light forming a laurel wreath around something that seemed to be... impossible. A whirlwind began to form around the creature, sucking, pulling in George. But something else was forming too, something that was evil, malignant, a tar pit of stench. Strange words were a part of the picture as well, whispering by themselves into his ear, words that George had certainly never heard before, yet agitated something inside of him, like it was on the tip of his tongue...

              Sycorax... Caliban... .Ariel... CRASH!