Prologue

I’d always hated living with my foster parents. They were, by loosest definition, cruel. They beat me for absolutely no reason and destroyed what was mine. I couldn’t take it anymore, I ran away from home (as though it was ever even partially MY home to begin with).

I packed what I had, which wasn’t much, just some clothes and my most valuable possession, a necklace, my moms. It looked like a bunch of rainbow threads clasped at the end with a steel clip, at the end of it hung a small golden cross with a blood-red ruby in the center. I knew my own story, my dad left before I was born, my mom supported me. My mom died in a fire at the store she worked in, a cooking store, there was a gas leak and she was sharing a shift with a smoker. The entire store caught fire so fast, it was all the fire department could do to stop the nearby houses from caching.

A loud snore broke through my thoughts. I silently opened the door to my room, if you could call it that, they shoved me and my things in the attic, which was already crowded with all sorts of dusty boxes. They didn’t want any part of me in their lives. Before I walked out the back door, I thought for a moment and took a knife with me, I KNEW they would come looking for this, it was an ornate knife with a 6 inch blade, it had a beautiful sheen and this feeling of importance to it.

I walked out the back door with one thought in my head ‘bye, bye pigs’ that wasn’t their actual name, but it might as well be, they were sloppy, rude, loud, and disgusting. They also didn’t exactly smell like roses, their actual names were Hilda and Bert Slog “!!!” they both had beady eyes, with lanky grayish hair that looked like a very small possum, dipped in oil and placed smack0dab on his head. They did nothing but sit on their fat asses all day (seriously, Hilda alone weighed like 500 pounds) I left, out into the cold (it was wintertime, I hated them THAT MUCH) with no idea where I was going.