I was only fourteen years old the day my whole world fell apart. It was the day I learned that the world wasn't the warm and happy place I had once believed it to be, the day I learned that humans could be more monstrous than the monsters. It was the day I lost everything.

No, not the day I lost everything. It was the day everything was taken from me. The day I first saw what cruelty and evil truly looked like. The day my father's knights found me.

It was on that day, the day I lost my mother, that I also lost my voice. It wasn't until many years later, long after I'd given up on things like hope and happiness, that I found the will to regain it.

I was raised in the town of Rovette in the eastern duchy of the Kingdom of Vrayna. For as long as I could remember, it had been just me and my mother in our small cabin on the outskirts of town. My mother earned money by washing and mending clothes, working from sunrise to sunset to ensure that I never went hungry.

I spent my days playing idly by the river or tending to our small vegetable garden. Occasionally, I would earn a copper coin or two by running small errands for the townsfolk, but it was never something that was expected of me. More often than not, my mother would refuse to accept any earnings that I offered her, insisting I spend them on myself instead.

Our life was a simple one, but it was enough. If I never knew luxury, I also never knew suffering. I had a full belly and I was loved.

On the day they came for us, it was an unusually hot day in the middle of summer, near the end of the seventh moon cycle. I was on my way home with three copper coins in my pocket, having just finished a very profitable afternoon of shoveling horse dung at one of the local stables.

It was hard work, and I reeked of sweat and dung, but having earned a whole copper for every movement of the sun that I worked had left me with a great sense of pride. Under normal circumstances, it could take a full fortnight to earn three coppers. The coins in my pocket were enough to buy rice for days, or perhaps even some meat.

It was early evening when I began making my way back to our home at the edge of the forest. The sky had taken on the orange hue of early sunset, indicating it was nearing the eighth movement of descent. A gentle breeze was blowing, offering me a much needed respite from the blazing summer heat.

The stable I'd been working at had a thatched roof to protect the horses from the elements, so despite its relentless glare, the sun hadn't burnt my skin. However, I was sticky and sore from the afternoon's work, and my body still radiated residual heat.

Well aware that I both smelled and looked particularly awful, I decided to make a detour to the river to wash the worst of the dirt and sweat from my body. Copper coins or no, it was likely that I would be scolded if I returned home in such a state.

The cold river water was undeniably pleasant on my sweaty, hot skin. I took off my shirt, wet it, and wrung it out several times until the water ran clean, then I used the sand and small stones from the riverbed to scrape the grime from my body.

By the time I was done, the sky resembled the embers of a dying fire, the last echoes of the sun before twilight officially arrived. I hadn't eaten since morning and my stomach grumbled in protest after the day's hard work.

I pulled my shirt over my head and shivered slightly as the fabric made contact with my skin. The chilling sensation of the cold, wet shirt was a pleasant contrast to the constant heat that pervaded the summer months.

Hungry and energized, I headed for home.

It was when I reached the fork in the road that I realized that something was wrong. The path that led to our house was surrounded by trees. No matter the time of day, one could always hear the chirping of birds, the snapping of branches, and the rustling of forest creatures moving about. Tonight, however, the ever-noisy forest was eerily silent.

I paused for a moment, listening carefully. Other than the sound of my breath, there wasn't a single noise to be heard. 

The trees that lined the path, which usually felt like they were guiding me home, felt ominous, like they were telling me to turn back. An overwhelming fear began to rise up inside me. Every fiber of my being wanted to turn tail and run. However, instead of running away, I quickened my pace and forced myself to keep moving.

As I walked down that eerily silent forest path, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me from the trees, stalking me from the shadows. I did my best to ignore that feeling and hurried home to my mother.