The Statue (For Gymdog's Contest)

I am uploading it again. . . .

Chapter 1

Chapter One: Prologue

There once was a house. It stood in a silent (nearly abandoned, you could say) neighborhood, white-washed and peaceful, just a mere friendly, little cottage by a dirt-road. Back then, there was only one car in the street and it stood right there, parked neatly in front of the nicely-kept lawn. A thick oak leant against the small house for support, adding to the fairytale-like atmosphere. And it was to that house that a lovely, gorgeous garden belonged to.

It was perfect. Flowers and herbs, ranging from red tulips, yellow roses and blossoming jasmine to sharp and aromatic lavender, basil and peppermint. All grew freely, just like the damp moss that crawled up along the back of the house. The air was always heavy with the delicious scent of the sweet flowers, to the point that when you opened a door or window, you were surprised by the quality of it.

As you went to the back of the large garden, it became darker gradually; a dwelling for creatures of the night. A weeping willow, its long branches bent with seemingly-genuine grief, hung over a round pond, where no colorful lillies bloomed. The water was dark, nearly inky, even. No birds sang. It was a dark, depressing place, where the rest of the world seemed muted. Oppressing, one might call it. Designed for the miserable, others said.

And just beyond that place, in a far corner where no light shone, untouched and unwanted, stood a lone, stone statue.

It depicted a woman; obviously young and frightened. Her head was bent in shame, maybe even pure humiliation. Her hair hung past her face in slobby, disorganized curls, its texture nearly as if it was damp. The statue seemed to be clutching her robes, as if trying desperately to cover her naked body. Her feet weren't visible, but disappeared into the stone she stood on. What was perhaps most terrifying about this decoration was the mouth; it hung wide open, as if she was trying to scream, but couldn't.

And if you dared to approach it and bent over carefully to look at her countenance, you'd see the pain and fear in her eyes. Everything about it radiated grief, regret, anguish and horror. No one dared to remove it and many called it cursed.

It is with this statue that our story begins. It begins like all fairytales begin:

Once upon a time. . . .

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