PROLOGUE

"Those whom God wishes to destroy he drives mad." – War and Peace

Ramona (age 10)

Dean (age16)

"Was Tolstoy playing God, or was it God that was playing Tolstoy?" I rose from under the tall grass, waiting for Ophelia's response as she brought the book where her nose had been nuzzled deep a few moments ago down her chest and met my gaze. Her pale blue eyes were wide, and her golden eyebrows were tied together in confusion.

"I don't think I heard you right," she said, clearing her throat. These days, the stutter was gone– or at least that's what Father fancied to believe. Since, my sister's stutter never made arrival in the presence of loved ones, and, since, our days were all spent behind the mansion walls with no visitors, whatsoever; we couldn't, possibly, tell it's existence from it's non existence– nonetheless, she still found the need to clear her throat every time she spoke as though she were preparing herself for any unwanted visit from her long-gone stammer.

"Yes, you did," said I, "They both created a world then stuffed and peopled it with various characters with different mentalities and desires then had the heart to rule and judge– Tolstoy with words written on a manuscript and God with words written on a holy book. So, who was playing who?"

"Ri, darling, you're leading your mind astray again," she said, putting her soft hand on my dark head. "Lock these thoughts away inside this great mind of yours. Otherwise, Father would hear them, and God forbid he'd do something neither of us would like, deal?" I nodded my head and she carried on."Now, I'll go fetch you something to wear." She eyed me down. "Mama would be furious if she saw the mess you were in." I pinched her arm and she giggled.

As she rose to go, I stopped her by saying, " Mama would never find out– she never came around the stables this time from the day– and I could sneak back to our chambers without having to put your little ass at risk, Ophé." I smiled.

"Language," she said, her eyes laughing with joy. " I know you could. But with that snatch, and all that mud all over your body: you'd leave in your wake what would make a person from China be able to spot your location, easily. Plus, I don't mind my little ass being at rick from time to time."

"Heyy, watch your language you–" I laughed. " That's what sisters are for, aren't they?" She cut me off. "Putting our asses at risk for one another, no matter how high the risks were." And with that she went, heading towards the mansion.

"Right." I answered her narrow back.

Rising to my feet, I started looking for Max. It was time the game ended and, like a good boy, he came back to my lap. But he was nowhere to be seen. Trying to find any trace of him, I followed the hay that I brought out earlier from the stables. Mr. Ronalds always took the horses for a walk before the training session this time from the day; so, I had the whole stables for myself and Max this morning. In a short notice, and with no trouble, whatsoever, we succeeded on bringing all the hay we needed out of the stables, and laying it all the way from the stables back to the mansion, I hid beneath it toys and random items for Max to find. I never understood why my dog found finding hidden stuff fun, but I made sure we played his game once in a while; because I loved my little boy. And now, I couldn't find him. I tried not to worry.

Feeling unsettled, I tried to remember his favorite hiding places.

It's been more than half an hour, since Ophé took off and I started looking for my dog. What was taking Ophelia so long, I wondered as I looked behind the stables for Max. I needn't worry, for both of them will come back any second soon. I tried to calm myself. The time was flying by, and I had to return the hay to the stables and clean the mess I made before Mr. Ronalds and the horses arrived or worse― Mama.

Embracing the hay to my chest, I tried to lift my chin up to avoid rubbing it with its itchy edges as I stumbled as a drunken back to the stables.

The place reeked so much that I had to put the hay down, and rub my eyes. When I opened them again, my vision was cleared and I started taking notice of things around me. Glimpsing the small tail of Max, I started calling for him to come to me but sensing something off I turned my head and that's when I saw him.

Standing by the stables gate was a stranger with matchsticks in one hand and a beaming rosary in the other.

He was magnificent―a sight to hold into. He was a boy but rather a man. And I never saw him before. He was a stranger. A danger. I had to move fast, and go bring Father.

My thoughts were all over the place, and I started to freak out.

His fierce, cold gaze caught mine and in ungodly, unexpected move my body reacted with a heaving heat– all I could see behind his eyes was: wrath, hatred and cold anger. I wanted Ophé afar from this. I wanted to turn on my heels, lift up Max to my chest and run. I wanted home. I wanted comfort. But, still, I couldn't move.

Mama would always say that ten year olds could be silly, and naive, and that she's been blessed with a bright girl for my age. Disappointment would strike her now.

I tightened my arms around me― for a freezing chill started to creep into the place― and tried not to look as a frightened as I felt. Instead, I kept looking at the beaming rosary he held in his right hand. Forty eight beads were held together to make that worshiping item, I could tell, but didn't seem to know how. It was strangely, and accusingly familiar.

My head was buzzing with unanswered questions when I lifted my gaze to meet his again. But, this time, I saw nothing but fire roaring in them.

"Go." He mouthed, right before not only my body, but everything was set aflame and blazing with a rival, vibrating fire.

Was it possible to feel drowned down a frozen lake when you were burning alive and eaten up with flames?