Her name was Branwen. She was a young girl around the age of eighteen, and a vision of rare beauty, but [s]that[/s] it was hard to see for her dark ebony locks where dull and ratted. Her deep lavender eyes had lost [s]there[/s] their shine [s]but instead glue bright with sadness[/s] but were bright with sadness, and her pale honeyed skin was dry and cracked.
[s]But [/s] That day was clear, as clear as a polished crystal. It was the day she would learn what destiny had in store for her. The air was a fragrant wave of vanilla and sandalwood. The sky was an angelic blue as she found herself trying to escape a forgotten chapel. [s]That lye in the middle of a spherical mountain range[/s] but this chapel was far different than most, for it was not a place of wisdom and beauty like you would think, but a forgotten waste.
Long [s]sense[/s] since abandoned by the monks and priests of its youthful days, [s]that was[/s] been many years later made into an orphanage by a poor and bitter woman. Named Madame Arabella, a once wealthy and happy woman who was [s]drove[/s] driven to the point of cruel insanity after the [s]lose [/s] loss of her beloved daughter. So she began to take in unwanted children, yet treated them as if she hated all children.
[s]It[/s] The orphanage was a large building hidden away by the gnarled, moss-covered fingers of long [s]senses[/s] since dead tress, [s]A[/s] a place[s]s[/s] where children did not fall asleep to a warm bed and sweetly sung melody. Instead, they were rocked in a cold, hard cradle by the hand of a withered old hag and lulled by the pecking [s]order[/s] of ravens ready to kill for [s]there[/s] their next meal
''I'm glad I have you, Nana. [s]that[/s] That place would scare me.''
''I'm glad I have you too.''
The walls [s]where[/s] were old and [s]piled of there ancient paper[/s] many had even crumbled over the years and [s]lye[/s] lay in piles of gray dust[s], blowing in the ghoulish murmurs of the wind[/s]. The floors [s]cracked and[/s] creaked with every step taken on the dwindling floorboards. Even the sheen in them had [s]all together[/s] vanished in its old age and left a kind of faded and splintered sky of light brown.
Nothing had remained. Even the garden did not grow, but was left there to wither away like a pile of decaying rot [s]something you think would not happen[/s]. But I suppose there was one thing that still [s]stud[/s] stood: the tomes of so many dead as if some kind of plague had struck and killed all in its path. They stood there covered in winding rose vines; something so [s]obscenely[/s] beautiful yet so eerie, that [s]sending[/s] sent chills down the spines of those daring to glance upon them.
[s]She[/s] Branwen ran away from this damned and unmerciful place, darting in and out of trees, climbing the hillside and hoping that there would be a place of purity where her feet where leading her body. [s]And [/s]As she [s]had[/s] reached her destination she fell into a bed of soft green [s]pungent[/s] grass and stared into a ball of liquid gold fire. She lay there in a state of relief.
[s]Yet [/s]It did not last long for the clouds grew dark and damp. The air bitter and harsh; even the smell had faded, bringing with it a new one [s]it[/s] that was dark and powerful, yet kind and playful, like some[s]thing[/s] innocent purity being tainted in a cruel manner.
My heart pulsed in my chest like a stamped of wild horses running from a storm the sky darkened and covered the land in silence.
Yet then it was not the sky for as she looked close at the horizon it seemed to be a dark gray cloud of smoke and cinder dancing in the wind as if. It where a ballet of tiny dancers dressed in gray and a faint reds carrying the screams of many as if where a prop in there route