Chapter 1

Hi. You don't know me, but you're going to. My name is Elodie Madden. I'm 17 years old, and I just committed murder.

Before I dive into that, let's go back a little. This story starts 4 years ago, in Lonest. I remember running through the woods, the rain pelting my skin, ragged clothes strewn across my body, and so, so much yelling.

The town was still being developed, and no one wanted the little orphan girl. They already had too many mouths to feed, and not enough food to do it. I went from house to house, year by year, but they all gave up eventually. 

Until this one occasion.

The family I was with at the time, I had been with for the longest. 3 years to be exact. They were well off, and didn't have any biological children. They loved me, and I loved them back. I was finally home.

That was, until the incident. Now, I keep mentioning this event and I'm sure you're wondering what happened. I do ask that you wait a bit longer, dear reader.

I was running and running, as far away from the voices and any civilization as I could. But even after the voices faded, there was no light to be seen, and I was utterly lost, I kept going. I didn't know what to do, it just felt like I had to run. I ran, and ran, and ran. I ran for hours every day and only stopped at night once I couldn't keep going anymore.

This went on for days.

On the fifth day, I started up again. I ran. But this time, I stopped after a few hours. There was something lying on the forest floor. I had seen enough corpses before to know this one was alive. But it looked.. human. I was so sure there was no one but me out here, that I became incredibly nervous. 

The only humans I had ever met, aside from that amazing, loving family, were usually pretty bad people. No one takes very kindly to people of my.. kind. The kind who stay quiet, who cry often, who can't stay focused, who don't learn quickly, who can't figure anything out, not even who they're meant to be. People like me.

This human, whose name I would soon learn to be Orion, was different. But not different in the same way as my family. He was like me. Maybe that's what was wrong.

'

This is getting me sad now, so let's talk about something else, shall we? I'm going to tell you what really happened the day my family died. Now, there are a many of stories and accounts of what people think happened, but you'll never find a permanent record of it, because no one besides me really knows, and they don't dare trust a word "The freak" has to say. 

It started on a nice Saturday afternoon. I was inside, reading one of the many books they owned. My mother–who I don't dare call anything else–was sitting on the leather couch across from me. My father was outside woodworking, which was his favorite activity.

He walked inside for a moment, just for a moment. It was just a moment before everything I had known for the past 3 years was whisked away in a flash. I recall the ground below us starting to shake, earthquakes weren't uncommon but this was no ordinary one. Table shook and bounced about, books fell off of the beautiful oak shelf they were placed so neatly onto. I threw my head up to look at my mother, who was looking around the room–everywhere–with fear in her eyes that I had never seen before. Fear so sudden, and so strong, that it only added to the worry I felt myself.

My mother, a strong, resourceful woman, who I had never seen even the slightest bit nervous, was now looking straight at me as if she knew what was about to happen. It started far away, in the kitchen. The ground beneath gave out, taking the floor with it. We all jumped up from our chairs and started to make for the door. Then it hit me.

My scarf. The one and only thing that had been given to me by anyone, gifted by my best and only friend two years prior. And there it was, sitting in the chair, soon to be sucked into the ground beneath. It didn't process before we made it outside, and as if I couldn't control my body, I ran back in. They yelled and screamed and cried out for me, but I couldn't hear anything at the time. I just knew that I would be forever guilty if I didn't have it. My father ran in after me, as my mother waited screaming in the doorway. We all watched as the tiles and boards caved in further. 

I was a small child, and the boards were sturdy in the den. I carefully, slowly, walked across them to my scarf. As I picked it up, I started to turn around. Then I froze. 

Some boards had fallen, and my father was standing across from me, on the other side of the sinkhole. 

I gestured for him not to move, with the irrational fear that yelling would make it cave. Of course, he didn't notice and started to cross anyway. I suppose he was in a rush, and didn't weigh nearly as little as I did, so as soon as he placed his weight on the first board, it caved.

I watched as my father, my amazing, loving father, fell into this eternal pit. He didn't scream, he didn't cry, he just looked up at me with a smile on his face. Love in his eyes. But still, fear. You could tell he knew what was happening, and that he couldn't be saved. That he was going to die.

My mother, on the other hand, did scream. She screamed as soon as he fell, and tears started rapidly streaming down her face. The pain in her yells, in her cries, was agonizing. I didn't realize it immediately, but I was crying as well. I clenched my scarf and looked up at my mother, who was now standing where my father had been just a moment ago. 

"Elodie." She said, "Do not move." I was happy to oblige, as I was too frightened to move a muscle anyway. "I'm about to do something that I will never forgive myself for. That I hope you will one day be able to forget, although I know it's unlikely. I just hope that one day, you find it in your heart to forgive me." Her words confused me, "I cannot bear to live without my darling, the only one who has been with me through everything. I am afraid if I try, I will not be able to give you the love and care you deserve. Everything I love has been lost to this disaster." I remember her words so clearly, so painfully. Having said that, and with the sinkhole still expanding, my mother allowed for herself to fall.