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"first_page_text": "Prologue\n…\n\nDecember 6th, 1948\n\nDawn broke like a shattered mirror, shards of light glinting and splitting amongst the tumbling layers of clouds that were the color of fresh bruises. It was a misty morning in Fell’s Haven, Oregon. A flock of ravens picked at the frosty grass in front of an old, ramshackle brick-faced farm-house set on the outskirts of the little village-city. \n\nIt was so far removed from town that one could see the massive, looming bulk of the Wall rising up from the towering peaks of the Cascade Range mountains several miles from the front-yard of the old farm-house. The Wall that divided the rest of the USA from the fae folk, who had come down from the Moon during the 1930’s and decided to occupy a portion of the West Coast. \n\nThis had been no small feat, and had taken several months for the fae to non-violently expel the majority of humans from their newly claimed land. Representatives of the fae monarchy had met with President Franklin D. Roosevelt repeatedly in secret before the land was accorded to them with the agreement that an enormous Wall be put in place separating the fae kingdom, referred to by the humans as “Neverland”, from the rest of the continent.\n\nThe fae claimed to have been a part of Earth long before any humans had come about. They had relocated the majority of their cities to the moon when mankind was still discovering wheels, for already they had sensed that they were to be overrun by homo-sapiens in the future. And, perhaps they had other reasons too that were far less easy to understand. Nevertheless, when the fae had come down in 1936, their reasoning had been that they believed that humans would have soon discovered the capability to travel to the moon themselves, and that they would rather introduce themselves than be happened upon like that.\n\nFor whatever reason that the fae had come back, they had brought with them a great disillusionment and mistrust to mankind. Though there were no laws prohibiting the travelling of either the fae or humans across the Wall, it was seldom done, apart from a few nomadic tribes of fae that had settled along the Deschutes River, which split Fell’s Haven in two: the western side of the city-village and the eastern side, where all the rich residents lived. \n\nThe residents of this worn-down, faded old farmhouse, set far out on the Western side of Fell’s Haven, though, were not so well off. \n\nThe dull green paint of the window shutters had begun to chip and flake off. There was a small, untidy garden of desiccated wild-flowers that led up to the front door. The walk was mostly dirt, interspersed every odd step or so with a wide, flat, grey stone that was mossy and covered with frost. A weathered Christmas wreath perched cheerlessly on the rust-red painted wooden door. The roof was missing more than a few shingles, and had a doctored, patch-work appearance that spoke of dripping holes and possible squirrel nests. And, the mailbox at the end of the gravelly drive-way was tilted, it’s flag hanging disconsolately and swinging every now and again with the passing wind.\n\nSeveral of the ravens picking at the front yard all took off suddenly, wheeling away into the murky sky with a startled flapping of their glossy, black wings.\n\nA lone figure approached, tall and dark from the tree line. Their hair flew long and loose from under the black hood of their cape; a tumult of wavy ink-colored tresses fluttering in the wind like a dark halo. They were carrying a bundle of purple lilies in one arm.\n\nThey traipsed across the stone walk with long, measured strides, coming to a halt just before the red door to the old farmhouse. Bowed once, ceremoniously. Then, kissing the pit of their gloved fist and releasing their hand in an odd, fluttery gesture, they departed. The dark-garbed and anonymous stranger slipped silently back into the tree-line, melting into the mist and shadow. \n\nTotally unaware of the pair of completely all-black eyes that watched them curiously from a part in the curtains of the living room window of the old farmhouse.\n\n…\n\nScampering down from the window-sill, sliding down the back of an ornate, frayed green couch, and coming to rest with a near-silent padding of their bare feet on the wooden floors, Heron Huntson smiled impishly. \n\nHis birthday flowers were here! And, he’d seen who’d delivered them himself! A strange man who'd had his face covered and had long, flowing hair. Heron had never seen someone like that in town...\n\nDarting sneakily through the kitchen, he helped himself to a box of saltines from the pantry closet. Poured himself a mostly full glass of milk. Sprinkling the saltines in, Heron mashed the pale crackers against the side of the cup, breaking them into small bits. And, fetching himself a spoon from the silverware drawer, which required getting on his tip-toes to do, he hovered by the sink and began to eat. Rapidly, scarfing down overflowing bites of the milk-sodden saltines. All-black eyes shifting about warily.\n\nHe’d missed out on dinner again last night. He’d spent half the night locked in the pantry closet, and had only been let out at last when his older half-brother, Levi, had come home from another late night ramble out on the village-city streets.\n\nLevi was in a gang. \n\nEverybody knew he was one of the Roses, a local gang that practically ran the western half of Fell’s Haven. The poor half, Heron had heard it said... Just like he’d heard it said that his brother had already killed four men.\n\nAt the age of fifteen.\n\nBut talk was talk as far as Levi Huntson was concerned. When Heron had asked him about it, he’d said nothing, but simply stared the five-year-old directly in his almond-shaped, pitch-black eyes. Blue the color of a whispering flame. It had seared him.\n\nAnd, Levi had looked sharply away, lifting the hem of his black sweatshirt and the shirt underneath to show the little half-human, half-fae child the six red rose tattoos inked along his rib-cage. \n\nIt had been a secret. Their secret. One that Heron knew without Levi asking never to tell...\n\nFeeling temporarily filled, Heron hastily set about hand-washing the glass and spoon in the empty sink. Drying them with a fuzzy hand-towel that hung from one of the cabinets in the counter. And, replacing the spoon to the silverware drawer and the glass to the rows of cleaned cups and dishes that had been set out to dry on the counter.\n\n He burped. Snickered to himself behind one small, olive-toned and lightly freckled hand. \n\nAnd, scampered away. \n\nOut into the main hallway of the first level of the house and up, tip-toeing nimbly, up the rickety, wooden stairs. Heron skidded to a halt at the top landing. Panting slightly. And, then he slipped quickly down the narrow, floral-papered hallway and, turning the grey doorknob of the door directly at the end of the hall, he slid inside. Shut the door gently behind him, his little lips pursing with concentration.\n\nThere, sprawled out on her side, diagonally, across the queen-sized bed, lay his mother sleeping. Marie Huntson was fast in the throes of a deeply inebriated slumber, and had been since yesterday morning. But, that didn’t matter--His birthday flowers were here!\n\nProdding her gently on one frail shoulder, the small half-human half-fae child whined.\n\n\"Mommy! Mommy wake up!\" he bounced on the balls of his feet, \"My flowers are here! I want go outside!\"\n\n\"Gnnuh…\" Marie Huntson groaned, her pale brows creasing as she batted at her youngest son's prodding hands feebly, \"What? What do you want?\"\n\nHeron frowned, the baby fat in his face dimpling, and he whined again. Stepping from toe to toe, he started to shake her nearest arm and shoulder.\n\n\"Mommy! Mommy!\" he exclaimed almost anxiously he was so excited, \"It my birthday! My flowers outside!\"\n\nMarie groaned again and mumbled.\n\n\"Huh? Flowers? What?\" She started to rouse herself sleepily from the mussed cream-colored sheets. Patted around blindly for her silver-framed half-moon glasses, which were folded up and squashed against her side in the bed.\n\nHeron, seeing this, fished out the spectacles for his mother and, after handing them to her hurriedly, he started to jump lightly up and down.\n\n\"A dark man drop them!\" the little boy chattered happily, tiny and kitten-like fangs showing where his incisors should be, \"Why dark man have my flowers, mommy? Who was he?\"\n\n At the mention of this \"dark man\" who'd dropped off flowers this morning, Marie Huntson finally seemed to snap awake. She paled. Sat up rigidly in bed, the strap to her white pajama dress sliding off one honey shoulder, and shoved her glasses on. She seemed to freeze then, and only her sky-blue eyes moved to lock onto Heron, seriously.\n\n\"What did you say?\" she gasped out wearily, her voice sounding strangled, \"A-A dark man?\"\n\nThe little boy tilted his head, picking up on his mother’s distress. Blinked.\n\n“He outside Momma.” Heron stepped back and pointed towards the front of the house, “I see him.”\n\n“Septh…” Marie breathed out, seemingly without realizing it. And, then she was kicking the covers off her feet and, grabbing her floral, pink-and-white bathrobe from the bed beside her, she swung her legs out of bed and stood up, wrapping herself up hastily. \n\nBrushing by Heron, she drifted, as if in a dream, her frail hands pressed to her lightly freckled throat, out the bedroom and down the hallway. Gliding down the stairs, the loose sleeves of her bathrobe ballooning, she arrived at the landing and tread stuporous across the foyer. To the front door of the old farmhouse. She creaked it open and stuck her nose out, looking about the nearby treeline with a strange, tightened expression in her eyes. \n\nHeron, who had followed his mother quickly down the stairs, stood curiously right beside her, peering out at the misty front yard and the dirt road leading into town several yards away. Marie Huntson slammed the door suddenly on his nose, cursing at him to get out of the way. Heron shrieked and wailed, both little hands grabbing at the front of his face tightly, as he backed away from his mother, shaking his head furiously. Tears spilled from his dark, dark eyes.\n\n“Oh, hunny!” Marie Huntson exclaimed belatedly, finally, after seeing Heron stand there clutching at his nose and glaring at her painfully for a scattered moments pause, she got down on her knees and held out her arms to her youngest child, “Mommy’s so sorry! She didn’t see you there! You mustn’t sneak up Mommy like that! Oh, c’mere, c’mere!”\n\nAnd, the mystery of the enigmatic appearance of the “dark man” was quickly put to rest. Heron toddled over to his mother, sobbing hard, and she cradled him to her sunken breast. Rolling her eyes with her chin over his tufty, overgrown, inky black hair. \n\n…\n\nAfter nearly a full minute of pleading on Heron’s part, Marie Huntson set about cooking some eggs. She reluctantly agreed to the little boy making his own toast. Not really paying attention to her child or what he was doing, she instead began to run the coffee-pot, which had been prepped the night before by a thoughtful Levi. After Dane had risen early and left to work on the farm, no doubt.\n\nReally, between the odd hours the Huntson’s often kept, it was a bit of a Christmas miracle that the reportedly “dark man” had managed to drop off the flowers without being noticed by anyone other than the youngest. \n\nThinking hard about just who this mysterious stranger was, and the best way to keep his true identity secret, Marie reclined against the sink and let her eyes drift over the misty, jagged horizon that was burning a brilliant stripe of pink beneath the swollen, grey clouds that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. Another beautiful sunrise.\n\nIt was like seeing a jester in a tragedy, all done up in their mocking, bright red and white paint, laughing as love itself died. She could hardly stand it. Could hardly stand to be here…\n\nHeron, who had managed to toast his bread and butter it himself, having to pull up a kitchen chair to the counter at one point, cast a somewhat dubious glance at his mother, and he set about tending to the frying eggs as well. Marie hardly seemed to notice. \n\nFinally, once the eggs were crisped at the edges and the yolks barely runny, the little half-human, half-fae child ushered them onto a heavy, grey plate with a spatula. \n\nThen, setting down the utensil, he balanced his wobbling creation carefully in both hands and brought it tremorously to the table. As soon as he set it down he erupted into a jagged-toothed smile, and the little boy clapped happily to himself and did a little jig. He pulled out a wooden kitchen chair with a pale blue doily seat and hopped on it, scooting it forwards till he was chin-height with the food. \n\nForgetting completely to turn the stove off.\n…\n\nWalking to the bus-stop was never as much fun as when Levi accompanied Heron. Together, the two half-brothers exuded a cloud of coolness that simply just wasn’t there when the five-year-old wandered alone.\n\nHeron smiled up at Levi cheerfully as they plodded along, side-by side, down the beaten dirt road that led from their old farmhouse to the nearest paved road. Which, incidentally, was exactly where the grounds for the infamously haunted Fell’s Haven cemetery was. \n\nThe little boy loved to run along the black-iron fence, hollering curse words and rattling a stick against the bars fiercely. He made quite the clattering clamor.\n\n And, his older half-brother, Levi, was apparently neither impressed nor amused by it; following after the plucky five-year-old with a jaunty amble, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His black, hooded sweatshirt and high-collared black leather jacket seemed to emanate a palpable wickedness. The fifteen-year-old gang-member wore his straight blonde hair clipped short and had covered his head with a black beanie. He wore worn, black leather military boots that had seen many a year’s worth of miles. A steadfastly vague expression. \n\nAs they arrived at the bus-stop by the old cemetery gates, two weather-beaten piles of mossy stones that had once been an archway, they saw the other children waiting for the bus. Running and playing tag, their school-bags cast aside amidst the fallen leaves and frozen dew.\n\nNo one said hello to them as they slowly approached. Levi meandered past the front entrance to the cemetery and leaned back against a slim, skeletal white-barked red alder tree. \n\nIt was a tree rumored to be used as a portal for the fae to come and go as they pleased, long before any official declaration had come from the fae who had lived upon the Moon in secret. But, that had been just old folklore and superstition for the most part, except for in the outskirts of society, where all sorts of mysterious happenings often took place. And, went unreported. \n\nMusing on this and brooding on many other strange and eclectic thoughts, the older Huntson kept quietly to himself, but kept a clear visual on his younger half-brother all the while. Heron stood awkwardly at his older brother’s side for a moment, hiding behind his brother’s slim but muscular frame and peeking out at the other children playing. \n\nHe knew better than to try and join them.\n\nLast time he’d come to the bus-stop unaccompanied they’d forced him to eat worms and had even gone so far as to throw him bodily into a chilly mud-pile by the side of the road. He’d gone home that day with his slightly pointed ears ringing with their harsh words. They’d called him many things, and all laughed at him, jeering till he’d snarled and fought them all--only to be beaten down into the mud again.\n\n The one insult that stung him the worst was being called a runt or any sort of animal name. This tended to set him off in a blind rage where he would howl and throw rocks and stomp around furiously. Which, of course, only made his tormentors laugh, and then Heron would inevitably attack them. And, be beaten. Cruelly, as children often do when their parents aren’t looking.\n\nBut, this time, Levi was here.\n\nThis time, nobody would mess with the slightly shorter and slimmer than average five-year-old. The little boy sniffed haughtily at the other children, who still paid no notice to him, and he mimicked his half-brother by posting up against a tree. Crossing his arms across the front of his too-big, black, turtle-neck sweater and black wind-breaker jacket with the zipper broken and missing. He wore sneakers instead of boots, and they were already soggy and moist with cold. Black, of course.\n\n“Don’t fight them. Let them come to you.”\n\nHeron’s older half-brother was always saying this. \n\nIt was simply too much for the little one to take. Being openly ridiculed and forced to do something he didn’t want to do was starting to take its toll on Heron. He already faced unnecessarily long and sometimes thoughtlessly cruel punishments at home. Often for seemingly innocent mistakes, like drinking the last of the milk and leaving the mostly empty glass pitcher behind in the fridge. For this, he would be locked up in the kitchen pantry for hours. And, if he was caught eating any of the food packed tightly in there, he would be spanked loudly in the living room with his pants down.\n\nTo say the little half-human, half-fae child had a bit of a short temper was an understatement. \n\nMany was the time when Heron had been sent home with handwritten notes from both the principal and the local elementary school, Hollydelve Academy. He was known to bite other children who taunted him or ridiculed him. Flip desks. And, with his inhuman half-fae strength, he’d popped numerous basketballs when the other children had excluded him and refused to let him play their games. \n\n\n\n\n\n",
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