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[kuninge-jane]

The moon glowed gently overhead, reflecting its light onto the night street as a young man stumbled along the cobblestones.

Unlike what the odd passer-by likely assumed, he was not drunk, though he was certainly falling about like he was. No, he had just been attacked, and was slowly bleeding out. Had he been in a more lucid state, not in the grips of shock, he might have asked one of those passers-by for aid, but in the sort of fugue state he was stumbling around in, he had little on his mind except making it to the nearest police precinct.

However, though he was near the closest station, he accidentally took a wrong turning, and ended up down a dead-end alley. It was there that the met his fate.

There was no sound, no indication that anyone was following him, that anyone was closing in on him. He didn’t know they were even there until he turned back around to continue stumbling in the street and came face to face with his killer.

[kuninge-jane]

Running, running, running. Valerie Martinez wasn’t certain what exactly had happened, but she knew she needed to get out of the forest.

Her day began as any other break day did: she laced up her hiking boots, and drove out the the trail she always walked. Ever since she was a young girl, she’d loved walking and hiking, a love spurred on by her late father, a professional runner. And so, that was typically what she did on her occasional days of.

While hiking, she spotted a flower she’d never seen before. She knew the area and its plant and animal life like the back of her hand, so she was very intrigued when she saw this flower. Though she knew it was the wrong way to go, instead of just pulling her phone out to snap a photo of it and identify it at home, something compelled her to take it, to tear it off at the stem and bring it home with her.

As soon as she had taken, she felt a bolt of electricity run up her hand, spreading with warmth through out her body. She tried to let go of the flower, but her hand wouldn’t open.

As the seconds wore on, the tender pain grew stronger and stronger, until she wanted to scream, but couldn’t let out so much as a whimper. She felt like she was trapped inside her own body.

Soon, her vision went black, her hearing died, and the pain was gone. A moment passed. And two. And three. Finally, after what felt like hours, her sight returned.

When it had, the world looked a lot bigger than it usually did; the colours were different, the trees felt like they dwarfed her, and the trail seemed much wider than it had.

Not long after the pain had gone, it returned with twice the force. Now, when her sight was gone, it was because she had lost conciousness.

She came to not long after, though she felt like she’d been out for ages. The world was back to normal – the colours, the trees, the trail – but surrounding her were… fairies.

The tallest amongst them was only about two feet at the tallest, while the smallest was only about six inches tall. They all wore angry faces, and a reddish aura emanated from their bodies.

“Human, you shall bear, for the rest of your days, a curse,” the largest fairy – clearly a man – said, before making some kind of hand motion that caused his aura to flow towards Valerie.

Once again, she passed out.

When she next came to, there was no one around – normal-sized or otherwise – but Valerie was still overcome with fear, and couldn’t help but run away, running as fast and hard as she could to get out of the forest.

[kuninge-jane]

Prologue

3 September, 1872

London, United Kingdom

Louisa, beloved daughter, I pray this letter finds you well. By the time this letter reaches you, we will be half-way across the Atlantic, returning home after our long travail in the Old Country. Our business has concluded favourably, and I am glad at the prospect of returning home with good tidings. Tell your younger siblings that we will be arriving soon.

Your Father,

Thomas Rutledge.

28 September, 1872

Boston, Mass., United States of America

“Sister, when will mother and father be home?” the youngest of the Rutledge siblings, a boy of 5, called Jacob, asked his eldest sister, indeed the eldest of all the siblings, save John, off serving in the Army.

Owing to her health, she had remained a maiden, though already at the age of 24. Were it any other family, she might have been shuffled off out of the home to some far-off cloister somewhere, or something of the like. The Rutledges, however, were a more progressive family than most, though they still had their proud traditions, and Louisa had been able to stay in the family home, running things while her globe-trotting parents carried on with the family business, trading in the far-flung corners of the globe.

“I can’t say for certain, Jackie. I would have thought they’d be here by now,” Louisa responded, trying not to let the growing concern she had been feeling more and more with each passing day show on her face.

If any of the past voyages from London were any indication, their parents should have arrived not much more than 5 days after the final letter arrived, but now they were nearly 10 days on from the arrival of the letter, and there was still no word of their parents – whether good or bad, news was better than no news.

Jacob began to pout, the natural state of the youngest sibling, and scampered off somewhere in the house to mull. Louisa sighed, seating herself beside a window and watching out it as the people bustled about outside.

She typically preferred the comfortable countryside estate the family owned near Philadelphia, but in that, she was a minority, and the rest of the family preferred the almost palatial manor in Boston proper, finding joy in the hub-bub of the city in which their father was born – as such, it was there that their parents always put into port, and where the children would usually be waiting patiently for their return.

As she sat lost in thought, the family’s butler, Alexander, who had been serving her father and mother longer than she herself had been alive, gently rapped on the door to her study.

“You may enter,” she called, turning away from the window to face the elderly gentleman.

His face, generally ever-placid, carried a strange note of emotion Louisa was familiar with on the old man, and she couldn’t quite place it.

“Young lady Louisa, I-I,” the man’s voice broke like a young boy’s, “I have some grave news about the master and mistress.”

He produced a handkerchief from a pocket and began to dab at his eyes as tears welled up.

Louisa, having never seen the man break his demeanour in all her 24 years of knowing the man, sat heavily back down in the chair she had stood up from when he had entered her room, her hand clasped firmly to her mouth.

“A-Are you certain?” she asked.

“The lifeboats from their ship arrived this morning, but they were no-where to be seen. Several other passengers stated that they had seen the master and mistress aboard ship when it went down,” Alexander confirmed, his voice quivering while he spoke.

“So, there is still a chance?” Louisa said, though in her heart, she already knew the answer.

“The authorities do not believe there to be,” the butler shook his head, looking far older to the young woman than he ever had before.

“Very well. Please, send a letter to Brother – he’ll wish to hear this news from you before anyone else,” Louisa instructed the butler, for he was the father of the eldest Rutledge sibling’s wife, Marianne, and someone with whom he had a strong relationship.

Louisa’s stomach began to churn as the butler left her room to return to his own to do as she had asked. How was she going to tell the children? Heaven help her, how was she going to tell tiny Jacob, still so attached to their mother?

7 October, 1872

Boston, Mass., United States of America

After Louisa informed the children of the demise of their parents at sea, they held three days of mourning, and Louisa began planning the funeral for their parents. John received leave from the Army to return home and settle the affairs of inheritance.

Save Jacob, who had become totally despondent, hardly eating or drinking, the rest of the family carried on as if in a fugue. All work was done with efficiency, and affairs were righted with proper haste, but all around them were aware that they had become somewhat detached.

Louisa, though weak in body, seemed to be handling things the most, directing the family in all their daily activities. Though she put up this brave front, inside she was as distraught as all the others, but she dared not show it, out of fear that if she did, the family would falter – she wouldn’t be able to show her face to her parents if that happened.

At the funeral, they all wept. For most of them – such as Louisa – it was the first time they had done so since they first heard the news.

In spite of their wealth, and those crowds in attendance, it was a rather modest affair. Though their father was indeed a wealthy man – one of the wealthiest in Boston – he was also a rather humble and generous man. This last statement shown by the fact that many who turned up to mourn at the funeral were people from the poor houses in the city, whom their father had given small loans, jobs at one of this businesses in the city, or many other kinds of help.

At the end of it all, the family were tired. Tired, and ready to get back to living life. The youngest of them, especially Jacob, though, were still distraught. It would take time for them to heal.

18 October, 1872

Outside Philadelphia, Penn., United States of America

Louisa, dearest daughter. I pray this letter finds you in good health. I am sure by now you have heard of our demise. However, I wish to inform you that your mother and I are well. Well enough, though not out of the woods yet. After we arrived in Rhode Island in our lifeboat, a doctor sent us on our way immediately to our estate near Philadelphia.

Your mother and I apologise for the grief we have put you through, and wish that all of you might join us while we recuperate.

Your Father,

Thomas Rutledge.

The letter arrived two days after it had been addressed, late in the evening, after Louisa had put the younger ones to bed. She often carried on later than anyone in the house, a habit her doctor had long urged her to abandon, out of concern for her health, but she liked those hours just after the sun went down, finding them to be the best time for being alone with her thoughts.

And time she indeed needed this particular evening, given the contents of the letter. It was surely written in the hand of her father, whose writing habits she was well accustomed to, often helping him draft documents for the business; the tone was the same as the many letters he’d written before.

However, in spite of all those things obvious to her, she couldn’t put aside the feeling there was something wrong, something off. She knew in her mind that she ought to be feeling joy, hearing from the hand of her father that both he and her mother were well, but in place of joy, she felt dread.

In the end, though, she knew that she couldn’t ignore the letter, regardless of the dread it filled her with – she knew she would have to take her siblings with her to the estate.

21 October, 1872

Boston, Mass., United States of America

The Rutledges set off from their city estate to go to the rural state near Philadelphia. After mulling over the letter and what to do about it, Louisa elected to share it with Alexander and John, who were again having a night of mourning, drinking in the sitting room and reminiscing. The two, after reading the letter, immediately began making plans to leave the city and head for the rural estate.

The next morning, along with all the young ones, the family all set off for the estate near Philadelphia. The journey to the estate through Philadelphia was uneventful, and that, coupled with the obvious joy shown by the others, began to put Louisa at ease.

Arriving at the estate, Louisa was the first to get to the front door. Affixed to the doors was a note, pinned with a letter opener. The letter began with writing identical to her father’s, but it slowly began to drift further and further from his penmanship.

Louisa, beloved daughter, indeed your father did truly love you. However, his love for you and your siblings was not enough to allow him to run free from my grasp.

No, and now it seems his love was not enough to save his beloved children, either.

Pray, did you feel even the barest hint that something might be wrong when you read the letter I set to you in the city, Louisa?

I do so doubt it – here you are reading this letter, after all.

And glad I am that you are reading it! For it means you have fallen into my grasp.

Do not be afraid, however, for it will be only but a while until you join once more with your father and mother.

Warm Regards,

S.

[kuninge-jane]

3 September, 1872

London, United Kingdom

Louisa, beloved daughter, I pray this letter finds you well. By the time this letter reaches you, we will be half-way across the Atlantic, returning home after our long travail in the Old Country. Our business has concluded favourably, and I am glad at the prospect of returning home with good tidings. Tell your younger siblings that we will be arriving soon.

Your Father,

Thomas Rutledge

28 September, 1872

Boston, Mass., United States of America

“Sister, when will mother and father be home?” the youngest of the Rutledge siblings, a boy of 5, called Jacob, asked his eldest sister, indeed the eldest of all the siblings, save John, off serving in the Army.

Owing to her health, she had remained a maiden, though already at the age of 24. Were it any other family, she might have been shuffled off out of the home to some far-off cloister somewhere, or something of the like. The Rutledges, however, were a more progressive family than most, though they still had their proud traditions, and Louisa had been able to stay in the family home, running things while her globe-trotting parents carried on with the family business, trading in the far-flung corners of the globe.

“I can’t say for certain, Jackie. I would have thought they’d be here by now,” Louisa responded, trying not to let the growing concern she had been feeling more and more with each passing day show on her face.

If any of the past voyages from London were any indication, their parents should have arrived not much more than 5 days after the final letter arrived, but now they were nearly 10 days on from the arrival of the letter, and there was still no word of their parents – whether good or bad, news was better than no news.

Jacob began to pout, the natural state of the youngest sibling, and scampered off somewhere in the house to mull. Louisa sighed, seating herself beside a window and watching out it as the people bustled about outside.

She typically preferred the comfortable countryside estate the family owned near Philadelphia, but in that, she was a minority, and the rest of the family preferred the almost palatial manor in Boston proper, finding joy in the hub-bub of the city in which their father was born – as such, it was there that their parents always put into port, and where the children would usually be waiting patiently for their return.

As she sat lost in thought, the family’s butler, Alexander, who had been serving her father and mother longer than she herself had been alive, gently rapped on the door to her study.

“You may enter,” she called, turning away from the window to face the elderly gentleman.

His face, generally ever-placid, carried a strange note of emotion Louisa was familiar with on the old man, and she couldn’t quite place it.

“Young lady Louisa, I-I,” the man’s voice broke like a young boy’s, “I have some grave news about the master and mistress.”

He produced a handkerchief from a pocket and began to dab at his eyes as tears welled up.

Louisa, having never seen the man break his demeanour in all her 24 years of knowing the man, sat heavily back down in the chair she had stood up from when he had entered her room, her hand clasped firmly to her mouth.

“A-Are you certain?” she asked.

“The lifeboats from their ship arrived this morning, but they were no-where to be seen. Several other passengers stated that they had seen the master and mistress aboard ship when it went down,” Alexander confirmed, his voice quivering while he spoke.

“So, there is still a chance?” Louisa said, though in her heart, she already knew the answer.

“The authorities do not believe there to be,” the butler shook his head, looking far older to the young woman than he ever had before.

“Very well. Please, send a letter to Brother – he’ll wish to hear this news from you before anyone else,” Louisa instructed the butler, for he was the father of the eldest Rutledge sibling’s wife, Marianne, and someone with whom he had a strong relationship.

Louisa’s stomach began to churn as the butler left her room to return to his own to do as she had asked. How was she going to tell the children? Heaven help her, how was she going to tell tiny Jacob, still so attached to their mother?