CHAPTER 1

Imagine how many beautiful skies we missed merely because we forgot to look up. Moments gone, forgotten to be cherished. If we did look up, we would be gifted with memories, but are they a gift at all? I suppose one would say they are, but all I wanted to do was forget she even existed. At least this way I can sleep, step on my front porch without her haunting absence, open my eyes to see those beautiful skies without them being sore. It was selfish but the long, stagnant days after my mother's death were holding me hostage and I couldn't escape. She was my best friend and filled the emptiness that was my life. Her presence rendered me a cure to the illness of superficial friendships, self-hate, inability to connect to myself and people and above all not belonging. She was my beacon of hope to live and now that she is gone I did not want to, I didn't know who I was without her. This deletion from my life was killing us all, my father and brother were just as badly off. Everyday life was a foreign language we no longer understood and how could we learn when its alphabet was missing. It was time and so we made the decision to move to my grandparents. I had never met them before, but everyone needed each other and so it seemed most logical. My brother was young and needed a suitable mother figure and we all desperately needed a new start. "Things will get better for us," my dad spoke over the silence as we stared at the roses, we laid on her grave before we left. "I really hope so," I said as my throat dried and breath hitched, "Good, she would want you to have hope." I burst into tears as my father embraced Lucas and I in a protective and nurturing hug.

The cool, light air of Castle Combe, England was welcoming and promising. The scenery was breath-taking. Cottage looking homes, embellished with flowers and tiny chimneys clung to each other, they neatly lined the narrow roads on either side and there were canals of clear water winding through the village. It was picturesque and fast-food wrappers, bottles, and the heavy industrial stench in the atmosphere of Chicago city ceased to exist. The sight stunned me and for that moment upon seeing a place so home calling I finally felt like something worthwhile was on the horizon. After eleven long hours of travel, we finally pulled up at a medium-sized two-story home. It was similar in looks to the others, but it stood alone and had a carefully cut lawn with precisely aligned shrubs which the others lacked. The rustic white sign board standing near the mailbox saying 'Astrobella' didn't go unnoticed, and my stomach welcomed butterflies at the thought of my mother growing up in this hidden treasure. Our arrival was clearly awaited as a short, chubby man in a brown woolen vest came rushing out and embraced us in a tight hug. He had the widest smile filled with love and I was sure he was my grandfather Albie because my mom had the same smile. Standing behind him was who I presumed to be Rosalinda, my grandmother, she was taller than him and had a curvaceous build. A stern, authoritative look plastered her face and she simply stated "Welcome, I hope you had a good trip" to which my father and I nodded and replied yes. I wasn't fond of her demeanor, but I also didn't fail to remember she lost a daughter and was meeting us for the first time.

Their home was outstandingly different from our minimalistic, modern residence in Chicago. Royal reds and earthly tones followed by patterned and beaded décor gave the inside a hearty traditional yet palace like appeal. "The kitchen, dining and living room along with the library and study is on this first floor and the bedrooms and restrooms are upstairs," Rosalinda said as we walked through their delightful home. "The boys will take the guest room next to ours and your room is in the attic Aila," I happily agreed with a thankful nod as I was quite content with the idea of having my own room to enjoy the peace. Well, that was one reason, though, I also travelled quite heavy and greatly appreciated the extra space for a mini art studio and of course closet space and a bed to myself. After our tour they left us to freshen up for dinner, however, I was quite jetlagged and instead chose to skip.

Fires burned the earth, solidifying and cracking the soft earthen soil like overbaked cookies. The flames climbed the trees, and its branches came crashing down onto me like hail. The seas swallowed the lands whole and the air was dressed in black ash and a suffocating perfume pervaded the world. There I was surrounded by chaos with a spear of ivory pierced through my ribs. I was screaming in pain beyond comprehension, I could feel the veins in my forehead scraping against my skull and my jaw locking as he looked at me with those cold dark blue eyes. Even at the feet of the devil's handmade flames I felt a shiver in his presence. He pressed the laced weapon further into my chest and I awoke in a desperate song of pain gasping for air and praying the dampness my shirt clung to was sweat and not blood when I felt the pair of white eyes penetrating my flesh from the darkness of my room.