1 Prologue: Unheard voice

Reflected, was the universal silence by the endless lies that is our world.

Sparkling raindrops fell from the spring sky. Birds darted from flourishing emerald trees to blooming flowers. Bees rushed from the cold rain to their homes. The plants opened joyously to welcome the light shower. Grey field mice scuttled, hiding in the long grass, as a clever fox sat at the entrance of his den, waiting. The air carried the crisp scent of fresh grass and spring growth. A small brook flowed. It was a fragile, duck-egg blue colour, like the subtle sweep of a painter's brush. Seeping and snaking smoothly past all obstacles, it managed to hurdle the river's boulders with graceful ease. Twigs twirled on its glassy surface, little messengers from the mountain trees they had come from. Small droplets of rain pattered down hitting the surface of the water creating waves of ripples. The brook flowed over the pebbled riverbed but it made no sound. Nothing did. Not the rain or the bees, even the people didn't make a sound.

A young girl glided barefoot on the soft wet grass, her long white hair cascading down her back. She moved with such grace, it seemed, as if, being so light upon her feet she would simply blow away. Wherever she went the subtle scent of new and growing things followed. Her citrine eyes subtly swept over the landscape with well disguised disgust. Rolling mountains, soft green meadows, little splatterings of towns, and The Grand Palace it's rooftops gilded obnoxiously in gold. Hiding beneath the sickly sweet smell of blooming flowers rested the more ominous scents of rotting corpses and ancient blood.

The rain slowed to a stop. The bees went back to their work. The fox shared his catch with his family. The flowers started to close. The brook continued to flow. All noiselessly.

The girl stood alone on the cliff summit, a violin clutched tightly in her hands and her dress billowing around her. The sleeves just, brushing her elbows, the silk barely kissing her skin. It danced across her body, tapering only at her thin waist before stopping at her knees. The dress was a pure clean white. Her fair skin sparkled with iridescent glitter.

She was the pinnacle of beauty. She was the spiritual truth that eluded the great martial artists. The purity of the daylight's last hurrah, she was beauty in its truest form. She was beyond simple mortal keen.

Her dainty hourglass figure swayed slowly in the breeze, as she stood, watching the sun set over the Palace roof reflecting off the gold, creating a second dusk.

She cast no shadow.

For all her beauty and kindness she was alone.

Walking through town all she would ever get were jealous glares and shamed faces.

Simply because no shadow followed her.

Though they loved her, her family tried to hide her away, biding her to stay in the forest for hours on end. She was happy with that. She didn't mind the stares and scorn or the endless peace of the forests, they were the one truth the mirrors didn't warp.

The sun had set and the night was close. The girl walked down the hill, past the forest and towards a large estate. The moon had risen. Moss crusted lampposts lined the small path, bathing it in a vague yellow glow. A cold wind blew. The trees didn't rustle. The girl walked silently, her bare feet sprinkled in dew. Her silver cuff bracelet shimmering in the lamplight, engraved on the inside were two names Lífið Kirian & Uriel Lillith.

The air held the warm odours of honey and earth, of pine resin and goat sweat, mingled with the scents of frying oil and spice.

The girl stood before a large mahogany door, set in the centre, a moonstone plaque. It was the kind of door that should rasp and groan when it was opened. She raised her hand. The door opened mutely. She stopped. She turned to a shadow in the trees and nodded her head. She stepped over the threshold. The door closed behind her. The shadow nodded back. A soft ray of light washed over the forest. A girl stood there silently. She smelt of musty tomes and unburnt candles. She was identical to the white haired girl, except she was all black. Her hair, her dress and her eyes were all the colour of midnight, only her skin was the chalky white of a ghost. The night clung to her. She was like a living shadow. A porcelain doll. The girl in black whispered something, but the wind snatched it away. Only silence belonged here. Moving with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things, the girl turned and walked into the trees. Everything stilled. The moon cowered behind the clouds. The silence changed, it was no longer just the absence of noise, but something more. It was as deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was complete.