"The past is not dead. It's not even past."
— William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun
The musky scent of rain-soaked earth hung in the air. The rain made the night gloomy, despite being a blessing in summer. Splattering footsteps were loud even with the sound of the shower. A little girl ran along the forest trying to find shelter, the tears of heaven concealing her own.
A thud echoed as she tripped and fell onto the ground. She sat up and looked the looming trees that doubled her fear.
"Momma…"
She held her hands over her eyes, sobbing. After a moment, she stared at the sky in a daze wondering where it went wrong.
She couldn't give up. She had promised. Promises shouldn't be broken.
With a determined look on her face, she attempted to get up. A whimper echoed in the forest as pain shot up in her knee. She looked down to find her frilly lavender dress stained with blood. Suddenly, she jerked her head up as something bright flew by. Her eyes widened. In front of her was a silver butterfly. But this wasn't a normal butterfly one would see in spring. It was made of pure energy or magic, as they termed it. The butterfly fluttered around her before going on its way.
Entranced, the little girl followed it, forgetting about the wound in her knee. Thunder clattered at a distance as the girl walked in the rain. Her dress was drenched and stained with blood and dirt. In her eyes was the reflection of the butterfly. It was as if at that moment, her world comprised nothing but the silver creature.
The little girl walked and walked until she reached a clearing. She snapped out of her trance. Her face paled at the sight before her. Her face contorted as she suppressed a scream. A man, surrounded by numerous silver butterflies, stood at the centre of what resembled a magic circle, carved on the ground with runes the little girl didn't recognize.
But the thing that scared the girl wasn't the circle but the corpses surrounding the man. The man was covered with blood. He chanted spells in an unknown language before he abruptly stopped as if sensing something. He looked up to find the shivering little girl staring at him, horrified. A chuckle echoed through the clearing. His pale blue eyes gleaming, he whispered, "I was not expecting a visitor."
He strode toward the young girl, who was frozen with terror. He gazed at her before lifting his bloody hands and reaching out towards her. She flinched as he drew strange runes on her forehead. When he was done, he looked into her eyes and said, "Little girl, here's a small gift for you since you are the last person I see before I leave this world. Use it well."
The girl stood still, confused at what just happened. Amid her confusion, the man returned to the centre of the magic circle and resumed his chanting.
'O Dhia mòr, cluinn mo bhriathran. Tha mi tairgse fuil ceud sluaigh dhuit. Mar dhuais leig leam an saoghal seo fhàgail agus tilleadh gu mo shaoghal dachaigh.'
The silver butterflies rushed towards him as the chant got more powerful. The girl closed her eyes instinctively at the flash of light. When she opened them, the man had disappeared, along with the butterflies.
The little girl fell with a thump. She sat there dazed among the corpses, unable to comprehend the events that took place. She heard footsteps rushing towards her and turned around to look at the source.
There was a boy wearing a cloak etched with runes. He had an incredulous expression on his face as he stared at her. "You…" he began. Reality struck the girl. She stared at her surroundings, dumbfounded. Then, the world went black