Status: Not Completeted
Cardinal
Chapter 1
Always were there birds. All I ever heard were the birds. Wings that flapped against the inside of my skull and chirps that echoed in my brain. Both left me with a constant headache. Sometimes I would forget there were people where I was and just listen to the birds. They sounded like they were trying to tell me something, yet I could never understand what. But they seemed desperate, and almost longing for something. Or someone.
Of course, I never told anyone. They would think I was crazy, even more so than they already do. People at my school call me Lunatic Luna because when I was younger, I used to blurt out the musings that were in my head. I don't do that anymore. I barely speak at all anymore. In fact, It has been a debate in my family for a long time as to whether or not I am a mute. My mother swears against it while my father insists that they messed something up with me a long time ago and these are the consequences. It's easier to blame it on them, even though I know it's not their fault that I have, what they call, an "overactive imagination".
Because, trust me, the birds were merely half of it. I had always had these dreams of people's deaths and the afterworld and even took up a morbid curiosity with mythology of all kinds. Because that is what it feels like: I'm always stuck between two worlds, and while my body might me here, my mind certainly was not.
So when I stepped into the graveyard, raven black hair flowing down to my waist in evenly cut layers, black mourning dress and heels that contrasted the paleness of my own skin and light blue eyes, and walked on the soft, muddy grass, I nearly fainted: the birds. They were gone. Just...silence. So quiet, I could hear my every breath. I could hear the wind weave itself among the trees' leaves and the stream that ran through the woods in the distance faintly gurgling. I heard the footsteps of the other guests and the quiet murmur of voices surrounding me.
And I don't know what it was: the funeral or the relief or the sudden emptiness in my head, but I sank to the ground, mud splashing onto the skirt of my dress. And I wept.
But then, a voice, deep and slightly familiar, said from behind me, "You came."
Of course, I never told anyone. They would think I was crazy, even more so than they already do. People at my school call me Lunatic Luna because when I was younger, I used to blurt out the musings that were in my head. I don't do that anymore. I barely speak at all anymore. In fact, It has been a debate in my family for a long time as to whether or not I am a mute. My mother swears against it while my father insists that they messed something up with me a long time ago and these are the consequences. It's easier to blame it on them, even though I know it's not their fault that I have, what they call, an "overactive imagination".
Because, trust me, the birds were merely half of it. I had always had these dreams of people's deaths and the afterworld and even took up a morbid curiosity with mythology of all kinds. Because that is what it feels like: I'm always stuck between two worlds, and while my body might me here, my mind certainly was not.
So when I stepped into the graveyard, raven black hair flowing down to my waist in evenly cut layers, black mourning dress and heels that contrasted the paleness of my own skin and light blue eyes, and walked on the soft, muddy grass, I nearly fainted: the birds. They were gone. Just...silence. So quiet, I could hear my every breath. I could hear the wind weave itself among the trees' leaves and the stream that ran through the woods in the distance faintly gurgling. I heard the footsteps of the other guests and the quiet murmur of voices surrounding me.
And I don't know what it was: the funeral or the relief or the sudden emptiness in my head, but I sank to the ground, mud splashing onto the skirt of my dress. And I wept.
But then, a voice, deep and slightly familiar, said from behind me, "You came."