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.
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?”