Prologue

She could barely take it anymore; she lay there, a broken heap; her blood and sweat mixed until they dripped into a pool beneath her. She looked into the eyes of the man who did this to her, they had the same murderous intent as before when he slaughtered her brothers. Faster than she could react, his hand grasped her head and pinned her to the wall. His hand covered her eyes and nose, but left her mouth exposed; it was for her to scream, he wanted to savor her death.

She bit her lip to stop herself; she wanted to deprive him of any pleasure in her death. He placed pressure on her temples with his great strength; and she continued to bite down, even after drawing blood.

Impatient to hear her screech, he placed his sword to her chest and began to push. The blade easily pierced through her skin, muscle, and bone. He stopped at the heart; he didn't need to go any further; the ungodly pain in her chest caused the girl to scream as loud and as high as she could. If any normal human were to hear her scream, their eardrums would have burst; but the man just smiled as he leaned closer to her, twisting the sword in her chest. He gently placed his lips on hers, and then pierced her heart.

The girl woke in a cold seat in her hotel room, kicking off the covers in her fit. Immediately she checked her chest; there was no wound; it had all been a dream, a very vivid dream. She reached over to her bag and pulled out her cell phone, hastily dialed the number, and placed the phone to her ear. Each time she heard the dial tone, she mouthed 'pick up' until finally…

'Hello?' said a man's voice.

"Are you alive?"

"If not, how could I be talking to you?" the man said in his snarky British accent. "Did you have that dream again?" this time his voice was a lot more concerned.

"Yeah, so?"

He sighed, "It's just that we are getting quite tired of you late night calls, or, in Titan's case, letters asking if he is still alive. You must settle down, Gwendolyn."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I changed my name!" she snapped at him. "And as for me calling you, do you have any idea what it's like watching you three die over and over again?"

"I can't say I do." His voice became soft and comforting, like the waves on a distant beach. "But you must settle down, dear sister; your nerves will not be able to stand all this stress for long."

Before she could create a comeback, a small movement caught the corner of her eye. Her body didn't hesitate to withdraw the knife she kept at her hip and fling it in the direction of the movement.

"What was that?" her brother asked.

"Seven years bad luck," she quipped, her knife had pierced clean through the dresser mirror. "What were you saying about my nerves?" she asked as she pulled the knife from the mirror and the wall behind it.

He laughed. "Gwendolyn Zephyrus, you can be as calm as a spring breeze or as fierce as a tempest, all in the matter of seconds."

"Juan, if you say that name again, next time I see you…"

"And the next time I lay eyes on you, Gwendolyn, I will call you by your new name." She couldn't help but laugh at this. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, but Juan, that dream…"

"Eleven years you have been giving me such details that it is almost like I have dreamt it myself. Don't worry, dear sister, if he does return, I am ready."

She grinned, "Expect the best."

"Prepare for the worst."

"Take care," the line died. She looked at her reflection and examined her face. It was young, around twelve, younger than she was used to, and the thought that she might have to worry about puberty made her giggle slightly. She slapped herself to get rid of the petty notion from her mind of her mind. "This is no time to be thinking about things like that," she said to herself. "Why do I have to be this age anyway?" Her recollections of last week gave her the answer. "Right," she said angrily, "Next time I see that messenger, I'm sending him all the way back to Kingdom Come." She sighed and tied up her silver hair with a rubber band she kept on her wrist. "Do this; do that," she began to complain again, "Of course he only shows up once in a blue moon, but when he does…" the anger against the messenger's kind began to rise. "Of course he could have showed up earlier instead of waiting eleven years!"

After mumbling to herself for a couple of seconds, her anger began to subside and the most important problem… his return. Frightful memories, long forgotten, began to resurface, some which almost brought her to tears.

A loud knocking broke her away from the painful memories. "Who is it?"

"Management."

Oh, great, what did I do this time? "Coming!" she called as she put on her bath robe.

When she opened the door, the manager was just about to knock again. "Can I help you?"

The manager was slightly taller than her, then again, she was twelve and short; and he had a goatee which compensated for his balding head. Overall, he looked pretty normal. "Are you alright, Miss?'

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just that," he said nervously, "the other guests and I heard a scream coming from your room."

"I had a bad dream."

"We were on the first floor."

She touched her throat and silently cursed her vocal cords; she was on the fourteenth floor. "It was a very bad dream."

He nodded disbelievingly. "Miss, where are your parents?"

"Oh." Now she was worried, the only way she could have gotten this room was to say her parents had sent her ahead to reserve the room. It was a very bad cover story, but it had worked; and it helped that she paid almost triple the price. "They said they were caught in traffic and won't be back till tomorrow."

"I see," he nodded again, "I think you should come with me."

"Why?"

"To wait for your parents… or the police if you make things difficult."

She bit her lip in irritation. She didn't have time to be arrested, and she barely had any time to be stalled at all. "I really have somewhere to be."

"Well, I'm sure it can wait," he said as he grabbed her wrist.

What resulted was a centuries old reflex that had her kick the manager in the stomach, rendering him unconscious, and had her swearing very violently.

Before any of the other guests could open their doors to see what the commotion was about, she ran back through the room, grabbed her bag, and went to the balcony. She looked down at the gleaming city lights below, contemplating an escape. Eventually, she settled on one of the worst things a human could do to escape and live. She jumped.

The next morning, the police searched the area for the body of the girl but found nothing. The manager was treated for two broken ribs, but he could only muster up a vague description of her. The only clue to her identity was the name on the sign-in sheet for the hotel; Wendy Heir.