Throughout Arabella's life, she had always found herself ensnared in misfortune. Misfortune could have been her middle name, considering how it always found itself lingering around her life like the annoying little mark on a blank white paper that refuses to be erased.
Her earliest memory was painted in red, the sight of her sister, Ariel, lying motionless beneath the old oak tree, her small body limp, blood pooling beneath her like spilled ink.
Panic had gripped her young heart, her sobs mingling with Ariel's silence as she clutched her frail body. Desperation clawed at her throat as she screamed for help, pleaded to the gods above, willing them to spare her sister's life.
And then... Ariel moved.
Despite the blood, despite the stillness that had gripped her only moments before, she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. Her breath returned. Her small fingers began to work again, and her warmth returned to her once cold body, which made Bella extremely pleased, extremely thankful.
