Prologue
The sound of distant muskets and carbines filled Edmund’s ears to the point of deafness. Profound resonances of human suffering surrounded him everywhere he turned. He looked to his left. Exhausted bodies of his fellow soldiers were lying scattered about the field. They were unable to move. Their faces revealing pain. His own body was equally fatigued, devoid of strength.
The Duke of Wellington had given his party instructions for the reverse slope, a strategy he had employed many times before. In this manner, he could conceal his numbers from the French. It was still early in the morning. Edmund checked his pocket watch. It showed half past two. He couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard he closed his eyes.
The sounds were still deafening. He had no idea if he had fallen asleep at some point, or if he simply disappeared from this world for the next several hours. He felt like he had left his earthly body to gather the strength for what was to follow.
A furious attack commenced at about ten o’clock. Heavy British artillery fire commenced immediately, and Edmund felt like he had felt every other time before. Strangely exalted. Frightened to his very bones. Proud to serve his country.
He, along with his fellow soldiers had done their best to defend the house and the hollow way running north from it. But, suddenly, the French light infantry had shelled the house to set it on fire.
“Everyone, get out!” Edmund heard someone shout loudly, and they all scurried outside. Their heads were bent down, shoulders slumped, clutching at their muskets and carbines as if their dear lives depended on them. And depend on them they did.
At that moment, Edmund could see a few enemy men approaching them rapidly. Their carbines aimed directly, ready to shoot. It all happened in the blink of an eye. Thegrande batterieof the French army gathered all around them, opening fire. The bombardment had begun. They had all been expecting it, and yet, they were hoping they still had more time to respite, more time to prepare, more time to live.
“Watch out for the projectiles!” Edmund shouted at his friends, but it was too late.
“I’m hit!”
“Move, move, move!”
“Duck and cover!”
The sound of hurrying motion and mind-numbing pain filled Edmund’s field of hearing. He had no idea where to look first. A stray projectile was heading straight towards them, and Edmund knew there was no time to spare. If they were lucky, it would just bury itself in the soft soil around them, if only they managed to disperse in time. Most of them were headed in the right direction, and Edmund endeavored to get everyone to safety.
But then, he noticed that one of the soldiers, a young man, a boy almost, obviously disoriented from the shock, headed in the opposite direction.
“Hey! You’re headed in the wrong direction!” Edmund tried to call out to him, but his voice didn’t reach him. It sounded like whisper. He had to go after him.
Without thinking, he rushed after the young man. At that moment, the stray projectile which they were all running from dug itself into the ground, but another headed straight towards the young man.
“Watch out!” Edmund bellowed, but he could barely hear himself.
Once close enough, he gathered all his strength and lunged at the boy, pushing him out of the way. The projectile hit the ground right by Edmund’s side, and the explosion scattered the chards all around. Edmund could feel the prick of a million tiny little needles, digging into his flesh, and a searing pain that left his right arm motionless.
He fell to the ground, his body spent. His hand was now resting in a pool of warm liquid, which he believed was blood, but he had no strength to open his eyes and take a look. Even his eyelids felt as heavy. His body wasn’t his any longer. It had become weightless, under the pressure of so much pain, his mind simply could not take it.
When he finally opened his eyes again, he couldn’t see his comrades anymore. He opened his eyes to obscurity. He could only see the tops of the highest trees, as he stared into the sky swallowed by darkness.
Suddenly, a faint light appeared in the distance, as if a star had unexpectedly woken up. It looked like it was approaching him, falling from the sky downward to Earth. He tried to adjust his vision, but it was hard. All he could see was a flicker of light, which shone brighter and brighter.
When it got too close, he had to shut his eyes again. But the darkness was overwhelming. He missed the light. His eyes opened up once more, and now, he could see the light did not emanate from a star. The star had somehow transformed into a beautiful angelic vision of a young woman all in white. Her white hair floated around her gentle face. Her paleness was akin to the Moon.
But it was her eyes he was most mesmerized with. They were the lightest shade of blue, with thin streaks of purple that ran through them. She gazed at him, her lips smiling, her hands beckoning at him.
“Wake up, Edmund…” she whispered in a voice as melodious as the softest waterfalls hidden in the deepest woods.
“Who are you?” he beckoned, but as soon as he gathered the strength and courage to speak, the angelic vision disappeared, and Edmund once again realized that he was lying in his bed, at home, his pain still his own, his body still as maimed as it ever was.
Chapter 1
Aloud, angry clap of thunder broke the sky in two. A young woman, hidden only by the cloak of darkness, was running through the woods as if her dear life depended on the speed of her own two feet. Thick shrubbery and low hanging branches grabbed at her, leaving reddened claw marks on her porcelain white skin. The thin shreds of her dress, her now only possession in the world, fluttered around her feet like an emblem of lost hope.
“Rosalie!” An angry voice roared, endeavoring to outvoice the thunder. “You can’t run from me!”
The young woman sobbed; a moan stifled in her throat. She kept pushing the branches out of her way, but they retaliated. They kept clawing at her ash blonde hair, trying to pull it out of its roots. But the woman kept drudging on, through mud and wet leaves.
The first droplets of rain fell on her forehead. They were as cold as icicles. But she kept on, shaking and shivering, her light dress providing barely any warmth and no comfort. Her shoes had gotten soiled, and the soles had opened up, allowing water and muck inside. She was freezing.
