Chapter One



I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

“Dear Diary,

Today is my sixteenth birthday, but it is by no means the joyous occasion that it should be. For today also marks the first anniversary since I arrived here at the tender age of fifteen, so innocent and yet so tainted. Was it really only a year ago that life as I knew it ended? Was it only a year ago that I was betrothed to my beloved, ready to be wed and to begin life as a grown woman? I was poor, yes, but I was happy.

But, alas, Fate intervened. I live here today as a leper, an outcast, a sinner. When I look into the mirror, I see not the flawless features of my past, but a face so blemished and disfigured that it is scarcely recognizable. I have no hope and no future, yet I must somehow find the strength to go on. And find it in my name: I am Clara, daughter of Henry and Sarah, and so I will remain for the rest of my life.�

I speak the words in but a whisper, but they ring in my ears like a bell on a clear summer’s day. They are floating above me; I can see them, hear them, feel them. My emotions are there, laid out before me as clear as day, yet I know I shall never be able to capture them. I close the blank diary in front of me, for it shall do me no good. I cannot write.

But oh, how I wish I could! If only I could write, if only I could transmit my thoughts and feelings onto paper… Perhaps I would not miss my family so much, miss my beloved Thomas. Perhaps I would be happy.

But sometimes, life does not work out as we wish. I cannot write, and I cannot go back in time to before I was sent to this dread colony. I must be logical, practical, in order to get by. If I continue to consider what might have happened, I shall go mad. And that, I know, would only confirm the wicked beliefs of those who hold grudges against us as lepers; that would only prove that we are inferior.

But I know we are not. And it is my goal—the sole purpose of a life deemed worthless by the rest of the world—to prove this wrong.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

With a sigh, Clara Miller rose from the little wooden desk and strode to the window. It was scarcely five in the morning, and the first pale rays of the sun were only just beginning to shine above the dark canopy of the forest. A delicate veil of white mist blanketed the quiet, peaceful glade, and the tinkling little stream on the outskirts of the town flowed strongly, fed by soft drizzle and the icy water that was all that remained of the winter’s last snow. Here and there, twittering birds sang their songs aloud as they fluttered through the leafy green trees, reveling in the joys of the first morning of spring. At first glance, the village looked as though it were a scene taken directly from a fairytale or storybook.

It was anything but.

Not bothering to change out of her nightgown, Clara walked quietly to the door and slipped outside. It was much too early for any of the town’s other inhabitants to be up and about—just as Clara liked it. The air was crisp and cool, and a gentle whisper of drizzle murmured against her skin like a silken curtain of mist. Breathing deeply, Clara paused a moment to enjoy it. But seconds later, with a purposeful stride, she set off to the one place in the village that felt like home.

Moments later, she arrived at the Meadow. Clara loved it there; there, where the wildflowers bloomed, the bees buzzed, and the birds sang their songs for all the world to hear. There, where the grass was greener and the sky was always blue, was where Clara could come to think. While it was little more than a small field set at the edge of the town, the Meadow was the one place where Clara still felt she belonged.

Clara was truly a creature of habit; assuming her usual position at the edge of the forest, back pressed against the damp trunk of an old sycamore tree, she curled her legs beneath her and stared out at her serene surroundings. She didn’t know why she came here and did this—she really didn’t. What good would it do? Lying out here and pondering whatever fate had ruined her life, while she could be back in the town doing something much more productive? It wasn’t like her. With a sigh, Clara squeezed her eyes tightly shut and attempted to reason with herself.

It was all by chance. She had not been chosen to be a leper, not by God, not by any other higher power. She just happened to be one of the few with the misfortune to contract the disease. She was not a villain, not a sinner, not deserving in any way of the fate that had so changed her life. She was just one of the unlucky ones.

Feeling slightly better, as she always did when she took time to just think, Clara rose quietly to her feet and looked around her. She was beginning to grow hungry, and the Meadow would always be here when she needed it. Setting her sights back on the squalid little town, Clara shook her head slightly to clear it of the remaining doubt before beginning to head homeward.

That was when she heard the noise.

Freezing in mid stride, Clara turned to the source of the sound. It was coming from somewhere within the forest—the Forest!

Clara, ever practical, was nowhere near as superstitious as the rest of the lepers in the colony. But even she could not deny that there was something strange about the place. Rumour had it that there were things in the Forest; werewolves and sorcerers, demons and devils… it was a place where no one—no one—dared to venture.

With the back of her neck prickling with apprehension, Clara eyed the darkened woods warily as she backed several steps away. Sometimes, when a villager went missing, the Bishop would blame the demons of the Forest. When a sheep was killed, the Bishop would blame the werewolves. And what was more, the Bishop said that the lepers deserved the hardships the Forest placed upon them.

Cautiously, Clara began edging away with her hazel eyes still locked on the woods. Bare feet slipping slightly against the rain-wet grass, the girl steadied herself and took a deep, calming breath. Perhaps the sound had just been her imagination, but then again perhaps it had not. In any case, she knew that she must leave immediately.

Just as Clara was about to turn her back on the forest and return to the town, she heard it again. It was a strange, mewling sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. It sounded human, and it sounded as though whoever had made it was in distress.

For a moment Clara stood there, torn between two options: she could return to the village and forget she ever heard anything, or she could go to investigate. Her selfish, more superstitious half longed to just turn and leave, but her practical side told her that there was nothing to fear. The Forest was just that—a forest—and it was illogical of Clara to fear it.

With that sentiment, the dainty girl squared her shoulders and edged forward ever so slightly. She stood poised there, still undecided, when the strange groaning sound resumed, this time much more urgent. With a burst of determination, Clara plunged headlong into the forest in search of the noise.

---

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

What struck Clara most about the forest was the darkness. Only a trickle of sunlight filtered through the intricate web of leaves and branches that made up the canopy, and tall, ancient trees cast shadows that no light could penetrate. The thick, dank air smelled of loam and earthy decay; it was mysterious, enchanting. Clara, mesmerized almost forgot why she was there.

Until, that is, she heard the sound yet again.

Snapping out of her reverie, Clara gazed around intently, trying to stay calm despite the pounding of her heart. With apprehension prickling at her neck, she locked her sights on the origin of the noise. Not all too far away, hidden by the dark shadow cast by an age-old oak, a groaning form was sprawled limply on the ground. Clara was still frozen in her tracks when the figure gave a hoarse cry.

“Who’s there?�

The voice sounded so weak and so afraid that all fear melted away from Clara in an instant. Running forward, she kneeled down and found herself confronted by the pale, frightened face of a boy.

“Are you okay?� gasped Clara, extending a hand to help the boy upright.

He looked to be older than Clara, but not by much. Dark, messy locks of hair framed his ashen face, and his wide blue eyes stared up at Clara with undisguised fear. A trickle of blood ran down a large cut on his temple, but he ignored it as he reeled away from Clara’s proffered hand.

The boy’s voice rose to a panicked shout as he stared at Clara’s face with an expression of revulsion and fear. “What in Merlin’s name is the matter with you?�

Chapter Two



All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something

I gaze, terrified, at the apparition before me; it is a girl, but one of the likes of which I have never seen before. I vaguely realise that she may once have been beautiful, but she is no longer.

I lie here for what seems like eternity, unspeaking; but as I do so, my mind is rapidly trying to fathom what on earth the girl is. I wrack my muddled brain, remembering every last story Father told me about the other creatures of the wizarding world—ghosts, banshees, vampires, and more—but the girl looming above me is clearly none of these.

“Who are you?� I hear her ask as if from afar. “Are you alright?�

Momentarily forgetting my pain, I open my mouth and speak again. “I—my name is William.�

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

William Briarwood coughed weakly as he spoke, staring up at the girl with a look of fear bordering on curiosity. He was clad in the tattered, reeking rags of what had once been a set of fine robes; a short length of rope bound them about his waist, and in it was thrust a short dagger and a length of scarred, straight wood. It was the wood he reached for—the wand—as he hauled himself painfully to his feet and gazed at the girl with a would-be-threatening look on his pale, gaunt face.

“Now, I’ve answered your question—who and what are you?�

A look of hurt flashed momentarily across the girl’s hazel eyes, but Will ignored it. He had learned long ago that guilt and pity bore little worth in his world; and if something did not aid in his survival, it hurt it. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he gave the girl a piercing look. “Well?�

For a moment he thought the girl was not going to respond; however, after a moment, she did. “My name is Clara, and I’m a… I’m a leper.�

Realisation hit Will immediately; a leper! He had heard tales of these people, these creatures, many a time in his former life. They were sickly beasts, monsters, sinners and demons! Eyes flashing mistrustfully, Will pawed nervously at his wand as he backed up several more steps.

“What do you want with me?�

“I—I just wanted to help you…� The girl spoke in a rather quiet voice, but her hazel eyes were already flashing with anger. “I could have left you here in the Forest all alone, and that would have been bad enough. But if you don’t want my help—�

“I don’t.� Will cut her off immediately. Drawing himself up proudly, the young man gave his head a forceful shake before continuing. “Do you have any idea who I am? My father, Edward Briarwood—surely you’ve heard of him. No? Perhaps you’ve heard of my mother, Sagitta Black?�

But judging by the blank look on Clara’s face she had not. Will eyed her appraisingly, wondering what sort of person had not heard of his parents, when it dawned on him.

“You… You’re not a witch, are you?�

“A witch?� Clara gasped, but an instant later she raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Don’t tell me you actually believe in such nonsense.�

Will felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of amusement; so, this was a Muggle he was dealing with. “Yeah, I believe in witches,� he said defensively. “Is there anything wrong with that?�

The girl sniffed. “Oh, not really; everyone around here does. I just feel that it’s silly superstition. Although,� Clara added, eying the dark forest around them nervously, “if we stay here any longer, I might have to change my mind about that. Come on.�

Will remained where he stood as the girl turned and began to stride purposefully away. As if he, William Briarwood, would ever need the help of a lowly Muggle!

Reaching up to brush hair out of his eyes, Will winced as he came in contact with a spot of dark, sticky blood from the gash on his temple. All at once, a surge of pain washed through him; grabbing onto the tree for support, Will swayed slightly as his vision blurred before his eyes.

Hold on
Feeling like I’m headed for a breakdown
And I don’t know why

Will blinked; suddenly, he felt very dizzy and out of place. Where am I, after all? He looked confusedly about. This was certainly not where he had expected to awaken… not at all. And what was worse, the strange leper girl was almost out of sight…

“You—Clara!� Swallowing his pride, Will thrust his wand back into his belt and took several steps forward. “I’m coming with you.�

The girl did not turn at once; for a moment, Will thought she had not heard him, but several seconds later she turned slowly and gave him an appraising look. “All right, William,� she said slowly, giving a decisive nod as she spoke. “I hope you’re not afraid of lepers, though, because where we’re going…� Clara trailed off, looking as though she had said too much. “Well, let’s just say that normal people don’t come to my village very often. I hope you don’t mind.�

Will grimaced as he fell into step behind the girl; so she lived in a leper colony. It was bad enough that he would be surrounded by Muggles… but lepers? It was despicable. But still… he needed a place to recover, a place to gather his bearings before returning to his home.

Will smiled bitterly; actually, come to think of it, lepers were not all that bad. Who was he to judge them? If only they knew the dark secret he was hiding… But they would never find out. By tomorrow morning he would be long gone, and they would never find out that he was a wizard… a werewolf.

Chapter Three



Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in

The forest is as dark as ever now; I can hear the light but tentative footsteps of the boy behind me, but beyond that my mind seems to have gone numb. What on earth am I doing? Bringing someone normal to the colony? And, to make things worse… someone I found in the Forest?

But then, it is clear to me that this boy is anything but normal. His clothing, his demeanor… his shocking, electric-blue eyes. There is something strange and disconcerting about him… He is hiding something.

But this is none of my business. I learned, long ago, my place in life. I am a leper, and a female one at that. I shall not question this William boy; I shall simply give him a place to rest before sending him on his way.

And yet… I know, without knowing how, that things will not turn out as I plan. It is something of a premonition I feel, although I refuse to believe in such nonsense.

This boy shall have an impact on my life. But, whether for good or bad, only time shall tell.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clara heaved a sigh of relief as she stepped out into the open, away from the dark and oppressive cover of the leafy green treetops. It was cold; very cold. Small, icy droplets of rain spilled softly from the sky like water through a sieve; it raised bumps on Clara’s pale, scabby flesh, chilling her to the bone all the while.

Drawing her nightgown closer about her, Clara turned to the shivering boy trailing along behind her. William looked ashen and ill; he was shaking, and there was an odd, blank expression in his eyes. Clara felt a sudden surge of pity for him; he really did seem very sick.

“Come on, William,� she said, more gently than before. “The village is just a little ways away. I’ll have the Bishop come look at you, if you’d like. But let’s just get ourselves out of the rain now…�

Several long minutes later, the strange pair had reached the village. The patter of rain beat a steady cadence against the dirty rooftops of the buildings; small puffs of dust rose from the ground with each falling drop. Brushing wet strands of hair from her eyes, Clara looked about for signs of life… but it seemed that there was no one present.

“That’s strange,� the girl murmured quietly apprehension prickling at her neck. “Where could everyone—?�

Clara’s eyes fell upon the large, plain wooden building that towered high above the rest of the town: the church. It was Sunday! How on earth could I forget something like that? Groaning to herself, Clara grabbed William’s hand and began hurrying quickly toward the tiny one-room cottage that was her home. “Come on!� she urged. “I’m late.�

Throwing open the door to her house, Clara ushered the boy inside. He still wore the same rather dull, vacant expression, but he gave his head a vigorous shake to clear it before turning curiously to Clara. “Late for what?� he asked.

Clara did not respond. Gesturing for Will to sit down on her bed, she quickly strode toward her little closet and withdrew a plain homespun dress of coarse burlap. Turning her back on her companion, relieved that he had the decency to avert his eyes, Clara quickly shed her nightgown and donned the dress instead.

“You lie here,� instructed Clara, pushing Will back down upon the bed. “I’m off to church. I’ll have the Bishop come look at you once service is over, but for now, just make your self comfortable and stay put.�

With one last glance at William, Clara turned and strode out the door. She heaved a sigh of determination as the door swung shut behind her. She had made her choice and brought the boy to the colony; there was no turning back now.

---

Clara burst into the church with her heart in her throat; water dripped down from her hair and sodden dress, soaking the hard wood floor of the church. Four dozen heads turned her way as she rushed down the aisle, head bowed contritely, toward her usual seat. However, before she could reach it, a heavy hand grabbed her shoulder and she found herself looking up into the beefy face of Bishop Aldrich.

The bishop was a large and heavy-set man, with a square jaw and small grey eyes that bore little warmth or kindness to speak of. His fine robes and large jewels always served as a great contrast to the poor, modest garments of the townspeople. Bishop Aldrich lived in a large and luxurious house a good fifteen minutes away from the colony. While he had never invited any of the lepers inside, rumour had it that he had five servants who served him tea and gourmet meals from dishes of the finest china and silver.

“Late again, Miss Miller?� asked Bishop Aldrich you this time?�

Clara averted her gaze. “I… I found a boy, sir, when I was—�

“A boy? You found a boy? How dare you lie to me, Clara, and in a house of God no less!�

A quite murmur rippled through the watching lepers; several of the elders gave disbelieving snorts, and Clara could hear stifled giggles from somewhere in the back of the church. She opened her mouth to speak, but the bishop shushed her.

“Now get to your seat, girl, and no more nonsense from you!�

Bristling with contained anger, Clara turned and walked to her seat and sat down with her head lowered. It was useless arguing with Aldrich when he had made up his mind. And yet…

No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips

Standing up abruptly, Clara felt a surge of recklessness rush though her. More than aware of the many pairs of eyes fixed upon her, she looked straight at the scowling bishop and frowned slightly. “I was going to ask you to come take a look at him after the service, but I suppose I’ll just have to get help from someone else.� Her voice was quiet but steady; the bishop looked startled to hear the girl speak so much.

“I found the boy in the Forest, in case you were wondering—his name is William and he seems to be very ill. So if you all don’t mind, I’m going back to my house to look after him.�

Ignoring the loud gasps all around her, Clara turned slowly but proudly on her heel and strode purposefully out of the church.

The second the heavy oak door slammed behind her, Clara let out the breath she had been holding and slumped down on the wall of the church. Closing her eyes, the girl brushed long wavy hair back from her face and heaved a sigh. What on earth had she been doing? Speaking like that to the bishop?

Standing upright once more, Clara opened her eyes and shook her head to rid it of these thoughts. The rain had stopped now; the soft spring sun was now spilling its pale light over the cool, sodden earth. Clara allowed herself a small smile as she glanced upward. She would deal with the consequences later. For now… she had work to do.

Chapter Four



I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay a while maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me

I lie alone in the dark room, my eyes half open as they survey my surroundings. It is a small, sparse place, but clean… very clean. For once, I am free of the scents of the forest; of the smell of moss and loam and dirt and blood. I feel free, yes… but at the same time, I feel trapped.

How long has it been since I last stepped indoors? I can scarcely remember… one day, so very long ago, I was living happily in the family manor—and the next, I was suffering in the colonies in the woods.

I have been lying here for but a few moments, but already I begin to feel better. My mind is sharper, clearer than it usually is after the full moon. My body still aches, but the pain is little more than a dull, steady throbbing in my joints. After a moment I rise to my feet—albeit rather unsteadily—and look around with renewed interest.

From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a thick leather-bound book resting on the desk in the corner. I cannot help but gravitate toward it—all my life I have been fascinated with the written language, with literature. I open it eagerly, reverently; I have not so much as touched a book since I moved to the colonies.

But at that moment, I am alerted to the sound of approaching footsteps. The girl—the leper—is coming. I make to close the book, but I am too late.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

William took two steps back from the desk as the girl entered through the door. She was still slightly damp from the rainfall, but the long hair obscuring her face could not hide the disapproval in her eyes as she looked quickly from William to the book, and back to Will again.

While the girl’s face was expressionless, William sensed that she was angry. He knew he should apologise, should explain his actions, but his pride would not let him. Instead, Will simply squared his shoulders and glared resolutely at Clara, daring her to say something. She did not.

After several moments of silent eye contact, Clara spoke in a would-be-normal voice. “I’ve gone to see the bishop,� she said with politeness that was a little bit strained. Walking over to her desk, she lifted the leather bound book and caressed its spine tenderly. “He—well, let’s just say he didn’t want to come see you.�

Will noticed the reverent manner with which she treated the book. His haughtiness vanished for but a moment before he was back to his brisk self. “Good. I don’t need your precious clergy to see me, in any case. I don’t even know why I agreed to come here with you. I can take care of myself.�

Clara’s back was still turned as he said this, but Will could see the way her shoulders stiffened at his words. It was almost fun, baiting her like this. She got angry, yes, but she did nothing about it. He smirked.

“What’s that you’ve got there?� Will nodded toward the book in her hands. “Looks thick.�

The girl turned, and her eyes locked with Will’s once more. Her hazel eyes calculating, she paused a moment before giving her reply. “This,� she said slowly, “is my diary.�

Immediately Will understood her anger at seeing him looking at it. A diary contained thoughts, and thoughts were a private thing. He paused a moment, wavering between choices: he could apologize, or he could not. Swallowing his pride, he opted for the former. “Sorry.�

“No matter.� Placing the book back upon the table, Clara walked toward her small wooden closet and withdrew a tunic much too large to be hers. “You can look at it, if you’d like.�

For a moment, Will thought she was being sarcastic; but her face, though disfigured by scars, was innocent enough, and her voice was sincere. Feeling somewhat apprehensive without knowing why, William stepped forward two paces and stopped with his hands resting upon its cover. He paused for a moment, then opened to the first page.

It was blank.

As was the next.

And the next.

Clara was still standing by the closet with the tunic in her arms, following Will’s every move. He turned to look at her, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“I can’t write,� she said quietly.

For a moment—just a moment—Will felt a surge of contempt. Of course this girl, this lowly Muggle leper, would be just as coarse and uneducated as she appeared. This feeling was overcome almost instantly, though, by something else.

Pity.

Will had grown up with a quill in his hand and a book on his lap, grown up in a manner in which the written word left as big an impact as magic itself. Yet ever since he had been bitten, he too had been forced to live a life without it. It wasn’t pity, he realized. It was empathy.

For a moment Will did not know what to say. Fortunately, he was saved the necessity of saying anything by Clara herself.

“You’re feeling better now, I presume?�

The brisk transition back to the matter at hand startled Will, but he seized it gratefully. “Yes, thank you.� He didn’t know what had compelled this sudden politeness in him.

There was a small smile on the girl’s face. “Well, you look dreadful.�

“I look dreadful?� Bristling, Will traced his eyes insultingly up at her disfigured visage.

It was hard to tell, but Will thought he could see her redden. At the very least, he saw a muscle in her jaw twitch and her entire body tauten as the cruel words hit home.

“You know,� said Clara, her voice small but strong, “there’s no need for you to be—� She broke off suddenly as if remembering her place. “Well, I’m just trying to help.�

“I already told you.� Will’s voice was brittle and hard. “I don’t need help.�

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the girl flared up in anger. “Fine.� She did not shout, but the fury in her voice was almost tangible as she glared at the young man across from her. “Fine. Seeing as you don’t need any help, I think it’s time for you to leave.�

Without a word, William drew himself up and turned to leave the room. The nerve of the girl, dismissing him like some common cur or mongrel. As if he needed her.

William was almost out the door when Clara’s soft voice halted him. “Wait.� Taking two steps forward, she pressed the tunic she was holding into Will’s arms. She looked more sad than angry now; her eyes were tender as her fingers brushed against the soft linen of the shirt. “This belonged to my… to someone I knew before I was sent to the colony. You need it more than I do.�

Will shook loose the folds of the fabric to reveal the tunic, slightly too large for him, but thicker and warmer by far than his own tattered garments. “Who gave it to you?� he asked.

Clara turned her eyes to the ground. “Henry,� she murmured. “He… he was my fiancé.�

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me

It was a moment before Will could respond. “Thank you,� he said sincerely, suddenly overcome by the gesture. Ashamed of himself, unable to look the girl in the eyes, he started for the door once more.

William paused at the threshold, then turned once more to face the girl who had tried so hard to help him for no reason at all. “You know,� he said, momentarily unsure of himself, “if you’d like, I may be able to teach you some reading and writing sometime.�

It was almost worth it just to see the way her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small ‘o’. “I—I’d like that,� Clara replied, although she looked slightly wary of the prospect. “I’d like that very much.�

“Look for me around this time next month.� With that, Will strode out of the door, through the town, past the Meadow, and into the Forest from whence he came. He did not look back, did not turn around again—not until he was deep inside the woods and far away from the quiet leper girl, at which point he spun in a tight circle and disappeared with a crack.