A/N: Hi there people! Spirit here! This is my first story in a long time, and I am working on getting back into the swing of things :). Hope you enjoy!
Full Summary: When her twin sister dies, Lyric, a girl with a very peculiar gift, is thrown into a new world called Synka, with dragons and kings and witches, where she learns that not everything is how it seems. Her gift is the only thing that can protect the people of Giron, a country in the new old-fashioned world. It is the only thing that can stop the worst war in the history of Synka, but can she learn how to control it in time?
People say the greatest sorrow in the world is that of a parent burying their child. I have to disagree, looking at my mother's stony expressionless and sorrow less face, and my father's bored expression. I knew I was a wreck, I had been crying for nearly three days straight, and hadn't slept in about as long.
The feeling was foreign to me, standing alone across from my parents and the rest of the people who had come to the funeral. Usually, my other half was standing beside me, a goofy and mischievous grin plastered on her face. It was hard to except I wouldn't ever hear her laughter or her non-stop rambling, as it was something I had always had with me.
No, losing a child can't be as painful as this. As staring at my late twin's pale face laying in white satin inside of the casket. I flinched as I looked at her, but refused to look away. This was the last time I would ever see her face, even if it wasn't in her usually happy-go-lucky grin, I needed to remember ever last detail I could, so I wouldn't forget her.
Watching them close the casket and lower it into the grave was worse. I wanted so badly to pretend that she was just sleeping, and for the longest time I had frantically thought it over and over again, but now there was no denying it, she was gone for good. Because some asshole stabbed her in the back.
I took a shaky breath and brushed the tears from my face, snapping at my parents as I passed them, telling them I'd be home before breakfast tomorrow. They didn't care, mom was drunk, again, and dad never really cared about anything.
I stomped passed all of the spectators, most of which hadn't even known Keele, they were simply mom and dad's colleagues. I angrily ripped open the door to my little '01 Chevy and gunned it as fast as I could out of there. My sight was blurring with tears, and it was getting hard to see, but I didn't need to see to get to where I was going, the path was etched into my heart, I had taken it so many times.
I slammed to a stop in the miniscule parking lot outside of the woods and got out of my car, slamming the door closed and locking them before walking into the woods. I followed a familiar trail as far as I could before turning and pushing my way through the thicket of bushes and low hanging trees until I reached my clearing.
The place was small, barely twenty feet across, with hip-high grass and a stream hidden in the middle, one you didn't see until you splashed into it. In the middle, by what I knew was a particularly busy part of the stream, was a boulder. I walked towards it, hugging myself against the cold of the quickly falling night.
I leaned my back against the boulder and slide down until I was sitting up against it, my knees tucked up against my chest. I turned my head slightly and gave a sad smile at the carving I saw just to the left of my head.
It had taken me and Keele nearly three weeks to carve it deep enough, in our minds. It was simple, but it was ours, the last thing I had left of my sister.
I still remember our argument of the 5ever, I kept telling her the expression was 4ever, and she kept retaliating that 5ever was longer, so she wouldn't settle for anything less. We had gotten into a mock stick war over it, which she had won. She had always been the one with the most brutal strength, even if I was by most means the one with a larger advantage.
I stared at my hands as I remembered the little war. We had both ended up soaked to the bone because of me, though we had just laughed it off, it happened all the time back then, when we thought I was normal. We used to go around telling people all about my little gift, and they would smile and say how neat our imaginations were.
It was much later when we realized I was different, that it wasn't something everyone else could do. So we stopped telling people, though I never stopped using it, it was still a part of me, one I had lived with for a very long time.
But now, even thinking about my gift made me sick. I clenched my hands into fists and turned so I could hit the boulder has hard as I could. My knuckles started bleeding almost immediately, but I ignored it. I deserved the pain; it was my fault that Keele was six feet underground.
The man had been trying to kill me, because of my gift. I kept pounding on the boulder until I was too weak to keep going. I collapsed against the boulder with a sob, and cried myself to sleep, hidden in the tall grass.
A/N: Okay, first off, this story will NOT have pretty much anything else to do with her sister's death other than the occasional mention of her sister's name. This was basically to describe how she ended up where she was when other things start happening, I just went a bit more in depth into the funeral and stuff than I had originally planned :). R&R!