Prologue: A Night Worth Fighting For
March 2005
There was not a star in sight.
The misty night's only solace was the large but beautiful candle that lit up the sky in its reflected radiance. It bathed the field in soft hues that gave the grass a bluish tint and the hooded traveler a lantern to depend on.
Yellow-green flowers pushed up through the soil, decorating the field with its innocent beauty. Trees grew, in crooked shapes, casting shadows that could make the blood run cold. Nature was the only sign of life in the field of death.
The first signs of the upcoming winter glistened through the fallen leaves and the lack of life. It was not winter yet, but the harsh wind and the eerie mist would make anyone want to bundle up.
But who would want to visit a place like this?
The lonely traveler slowly yet effortlessly made his way up the pathway.
Gravestones dotted the field, as far as the eye could see. All placed in a scarily aligned pattern. A murder of crow's shrieks protested against the eerie silence, then flying far above the sky, as if they were being chased by the ghouls and demons that reigned over the silent tombs.
A rusty gate's creak sounded as the hooded figure entered the graveyard, it's crunching footsteps a cacophony in the deathly silence.
It walked down the field unto the very end of it, where a solitary tombstone lay. It sat down on the ground, placing its head in its hands.
Then it looked up and shook its fist, letting out a heart-wrenching cry into the silent night. It's red, blotchy eyes glistened in the moonlight.
"You'll pay Summers," it rasped; a deranged maniac.
"You'll pay for what you did."
***
Next Update: 15th March 2018