It was a somber day at first glance. It was a day full of happiness for several in the darkest parts of their hearts. It was a day that had never happened for Hampton High School before. It was the day of a student's funeral. Scottie Whittaker, one of the many teenagers in Muireall's school who had picked on her, had died. And in a most bizarre fashion. He had drowned in Fairlin Lake, a small pool of water that was known for its tranquility and for being young people's most popular make-out spot. Scottie Whittaker, Hampton High's swim team captain, had drowned in a large pond that was at most eight feet deep.

Everyone was cynical. Everyone suspected foul play. There was simply no hard evidence to suggest it had been anything other than an accident. Scottie's classmates, however, held their own ideas about what had happened. They knew that Scottie had been behaving strangely about a week before his death. At the time, people were merely puzzled, but figured he would eventually go back to being his normal, arrogant self soon enough. They were wrong. Now whispers filled the hallways of Hampton High, tales of how Muireall had cursed Scottie with madness, leading to his suicide.

Muireall was aware of the rumors, but she could do nothing to silence them. Nor did she want to. Most of her peers had always looked upon her with contempt, ever since she had moved there four years before. They had all bullied her in various ways, with Scottie Whittaker taking the lead.

The clouds overhead grew darker as the pine casket was lowered into the ground. Soon enough, small drops of precipitation began to fall from above as if the sky itself was grieving over the dead boy. The wind blew soothingly, making the leaves of the nearby trees rustle. No bird dared sing, not a squirrel risked scurrying along the ground. All were caught in the hush of death as though under an enchantment.

The entire school had gathered for the event, as well as a large number of mournful relatives. A woman in her early fifties stood with a solemn man of about the same age. Her entire appearance was one of sorrow, but you could see that she had once been astoundingly beautiful. She sobbed silently, holding onto her husband's arm for support. Her long grey hair was pulled back in a tight bun, partially hidden under an expensive black hat. Although none of the students had ever seen her before, they all knew that this could only be Mrs. Whittaker. That meant that the man beside her was none other than the wealthiest man in Hampton, Mr. Roland B. Whittaker.

The service lasted a little over an hour, but to Muireall, it felt like an eternity. Being forced to listen to compliments bestowed upon a person so obviously undeserving of them made Muireall nauseated. Each lie spewed forth from mouth after mouth increased her discomfort so much that she feared she would hurl if things did not end soon. Muireall attempted to remain composed, but she couldn't stop the grayish tinge that her skin had taken on. Normally she had healthy-looking, tannish skin, but right then it had such a paleness to it that it was almost as if she, not Scottie, should be the one going into the ground.

Muireall's mother and father stood on either side of her in silence. Terrence Dunning was as still as a statue, and his wife Greer stared hard at the ground. Neither of them had any idea of the cruel words Scottie had tormented their daughter with, no inkling of his sadistic nature. All they were aware of was that he had been Muireall's classmate, as well as the single son of billionaire tycoons Roland and Christine Whittaker.

Terrence was a quiet man, sullen and distant. He was mediocre as a father, mediocre as a lawyer, and mediocre as a husband, but for some reason, Greer stood by him. What that reason was, Muireall had no idea; she only knew that there was no way that she would ever stay with someone who treated her as coldly as Terrence did.

He was even worse when it came to showing his daughter endearment. Muireall had tried to earn his affection for years, but he hardly gave any indication that he appreciated her existence at all. The only time he might hug her was while they were in public, and that was only for the sake of appearance. Moments such as that were always awkward and lacked any true warmth. Muireall had finally given up on the idea of gaining any love from her father, and because of that, she was forever bitter toward him.

When her parents asked Muireall what Scottie was like, Muireall knew they wouldn't believe the savage behavior he was capable of. Thus, Muireall lied and said that he had been an amiable sort of fellow, well-liked by all his peers. The truth was that Scottie Whittaker had been so feared by everyone in the school that they all waited on him, hand and foot. If Scottie had passed along a bad word about any of them, Mr. Whittaker could have easily arranged for that student's parents to be out of work.

Even the teachers had been intimidated by him. That was the only way Scottie had been acing all of his classes while putting forth minimal effort. It had infuriated Muireall that Hampton High handed Scottie everything he wanted on a silver platter while she worked herself to the bone in order to maintain a B average.

But now he was gone. And Muireall couldn't honestly say she was sad about it.

She knew she should feel sad, but she couldn't muster up any feelings except curiosity and relief. She, too, wondered what had truly happened to Scottie, but mostly, she was glad she wouldn't have to deal with his verbal and physical attacks anymore. Perhaps with him gone, the rest would ease up on her and she could continue her time as a student with minimal human contact.

Muireall was like ice toward the world. She felt she had to be since her parents' behavior had convinced her that everyone would let her down. It was better to avoid the hurt of the betrayals she knew would come if she were to let anyone get close. In the beginning, some of her classmates had tried to befriend her, but they quickly learned they were simply setting themselves up for failure. Muireall wasn't interested in friends. The only thing that kept her going was some small instinct that wouldn't let her quit. That and the sea.

The ocean was something that fascinated Muireall in a way she couldn't explain. What was it that made her blood sing within her and her head swim when she thought about it? She had never even seen the ocean before. Despite her pleadings, her parents had always said it was out of the question. The only reason Muireall could think of for their obstinance was that they knew it would make her happy and her parents would never allow that. But Muireall promised herself that once she could get out, that was the first place she would go. She would go to college and be an oceanographer or a marine biologist and never have to see her parents again.

A sudden movement caught Muireall's attention. Her gaze fell upon the cemetery's gate. Resting atop it was a solitary raven that stared ominously back at her. Its ebony plumage gleamed and almost appeared blue. The bird's eyes never wavered from her visage, but instead remained fixed on her in a most disturbing manner. Muireall found herself unable to look away, feeling entranced and terrified at the same time. The raven cocked its head to the side, assessing her.

"It's time to go home," Mrs. Dunning whispered into her daughter's ear, releasing Muireall from the raven's hypnotic gaze. She blinked and the bird gave a single caw before flying out of sight.

With those words the only ones cutting the silence, the Dunning family turned to their car and left. And for the rest of the day, no matter how Greer tried to distract everyone from the grim event, Muireall could not get that raven's stare out of her mind.