Literature
chapter one as yet untitled
On a cold autumn night, in the moons pregnant light, all is still and all is questionable. If I were Rialle Witchson, I would be as wary as she was on that night. Ah, but I was, for I am that very Rialle, and I was most certainly wary of the all-too silent forest. For I knew that there were things in that forest that werent as ordinary as everyone wanted them to be.
I was seventeen, and pouting that day. I was being forced to move in with my now-deceased mothers husband, after living with my father and his wife. Dont get me wrong, I was happy to get away from the Barbie doll bitch my father called his sugar pie&