The Runaway • 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑦 𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑏𝑦

Prologue

A young girl who is blessed to see all the beauty in the world but cursed in a world that loves nothing more than to take that beauty and destroy it.

That's when her mother told her, "my dear, I fear you are both blessed and cursed. Blessed because you see all the beauty in the world, even in the ugly, shining your light upon it all. Cursed because the world will take and take and take! from your beautiful light, always trying to snuff it out. Never let it! That light is what makes you who you are."

Charlotte never forgot this and as she ran from her childhood, ran from her controlling grandmother, ran from her legacy, ran from the pile of bodies tucked away still haunting her, Charlotte thought maybe she was more cursed than she is blessed.

*

Blood. There was blood everywhere. On her hands, on her dress, pressed into her skin. Painted like a canvas, but this wasn't a painting of a beautiful landscape or a portrait to be hung on a wall. No. This was a painting of death, of fear, and not only was she the painter but she was the bloody canvas.

Blood was everywhere but that didn't stop her. It didn't stop her from running till her legs felt as though they would collapse and never move again. Nor did the feeling of her dress sticking to her like a second skin. The blood making her feel as if when she finally took the blood soaked garment off it would make no difference. The blood had seeped into her skin now, forever tainting her, inside and out. None of this mattered though. She knew what she had done and how one decision could ruin your life forever. She kept running, and she knew she would be running for a long time.

Charlotte had already packed her belongings and they were waiting for her at her hotel she booked a week before. A week before everything went to shit. This wasn't meant to be part of the plan. She was never meant to be covered in blood while fleeing her home.

No that's not right. This isn't her home, it hasn't been her home for a long time. Not since she lost her family and all those dear to her. She didn't even get to say goodbye to Sarah.

'Oh Sarah,' she thought, 'this wasn't meant to happen, this is all my fault. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!' She started running her bloody palms into the black coat covering her blood soaked dress. Trying to rub off the residue of guilt and sadness as if it would ease the ache in her chest.

She never wanted this. All she wanted was to live her dream of being a writer or to be on the stage, performing like a songbird with her family and friends there to support her. But Charolette knew that those dreams died long ago, before, during, and after the war.

*

A year before the war started her mother, Roselyn Claire Moore, became terribly ill. There was nothing the doctors could do. Not even the more experimental methods or her father's relatives he wrote in Small Heath could help. The last time Charlotte talked to her mother she knew she was saying goodbye, knowing her time was coming. Her mother laid in bed, Charlotte held her hand when her mother pulled out the locket her father gave her after their first date.

It was the perfect size to hold a photo of a lover or family inside. It was a gold, oval shaped, victorian locket with a rose design. The back had an engraving that said 'You hold my heart, always.' Charlotte had always admired it as a child. It was very special to her mother as it held a picture of her father, James Moore, on one side with Charlotte and her brother Daniel on the other. Her mother told her despite how terrible the world can seem at times, she must always carry on. There was a light inside her, a beauty that needed to be shared with the world and she shouldn't hide from it. She told her to let love drive her because when the time comes and she finds a love like the one her and her father shared, then everything, all the good and the bad in her life and in the world, would be worth it.