The Secret (Prologue)

He had that kind of look. The look of someone with a history of pain, sorrow, and horrors none could begin to fathom. The look worn by those returning from war, the sight of their comrades dying in battle forever ingrained in their memories. The same look of those who huddle in rags in the dank alleyways in overcrowded, polluted cities. The look of someone who has lost everything, and now had nothing and no one left in this cold unfeeling world. It was etched into the contours of his face, mapping out a story of despair. It was held, deep within his eyes, in the darkest pits of his soul. It was written in the down-trodden way he walked and carried himself. Everything about him told a tragic tale fraught with sadness; sadness with no bounds.

Under different circumstances, he would have been fawned on by every girl who crossed his path, for he was quite pleasing to the eye. He was lean, on the border of lanky, but there was muscle to him, a certain strength. Tall, and with an athlete's build, he would have been both loved and envied for his looks. His raven hair fell over one of his silvery gray eyes, and would have seemed to be a constant frustration to him if he appeared like he cared for such things at all. His fingers were long, and his hands were constantly doing something, whether it be drawing, writing, or drumming gently against his desk or leg. It was easy to tell he couldn't stand being in one place for too long, and that he was used to being free to go where he pleased whenever he pleased.

Perhaps it was this that kept others from him, or perhaps it was the overall broodiness that kept them away; Perhaps both. One could never tell with him. There was a constant shroud of mystery surrounding him, his past, where he came from, who he was. No one seemed to know anything about him except for his name. Rowan. His last name though remained clandestine. It wasn't known where he came from, or why he was here, in the lazy town of Cherry Grove. He had shown up one day, from God knows where, and just stayed. He was never seen doing much of anything considered normal. Things like roller-skating at the nearby rink, or hanging with friends, of which it seemed he had none, at the movies or the park. Yet, he was never seen in any of those normal teenage hotspots, and he never expressed any interest in visiting. There were just too many questions, too many unknowns. No one had answers, but no one was able, or brave enough, to ask for answers. As it was, he was avoided, and never spoken to. Perhaps he preferred it that way.

In a group, he stood apart, his untrusting and cold eyes cast warily upon the group, watching with an unwavering gaze, studying the others, though it seemed it was less out of curiosity than apprehension. He looked as though he expected one of them to attack him, and when someone tried to speak to him, he glared icily until they left, as they all did. All except for me, whose unquenchable curiosity dropped me on a trail leading to danger, ending in disaster. After all, curiosity did kill the cat.


Author's Note: Hi everybody! I hope you liked it! I've been playing around with this idea for a while, and a couple days ago I just sat down and wrote it. It turned out better than I thought, so I decided to post it! :) The first chapter will be up in a couple days or so. I already wrote it, I just need to edit and stuff, so...yeah. Stay tuned! :D