Prologue
England, Years Later
The sun slowly dipped to sleep behind the tall, green trees of Plashet Park when the little girl—no more than six—jumped off the swing. Her gaze was glued to an old man’s shoulder as he passed the playground. She trembled, searching for her mum, only to find her nose deep in a book.
The little girl pursed her lips and poked her finger through a small hole in her T-shirt. She knew her mum would sew a small flower over it, when she noticed later, so she didn’t mind that new holes always seemed to appear. It was as if a moth lived in them.
She ran barefoot through the silky grass, too young to know better than to engage with strangers. Catching up to the old man, she tugged the edge of his cardigan.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice careful with a curious edge. Slowly, the old man stopped and turned around, his face grey and wrinkled like a forgotten paper someone had crumpled.
“What’s that?” she asked, tipping her head. “What are you carrying?”
The old man’s brows knotted as he looked down at his empty hands, then up at the little girl, who shook her head, confused.
“Not there,” she replied, impatiently, before tiptoeing up and poking his shoulder. “Here.”
As she said it, something slipped past her palm, swirling around her fingers, before floating by.
The small, dark cloud slowly took the shape of a worm and crawled up the old man’s brown cardigan as if it were soil.
Then all of a sudden, two rounded wings popped out from the shadow form.
They were rounded and small, too small for its body, which made it look weird, like a broken butterfly.
Slowly—as if it was unsure how to use its new wings—it lifted off the cardigan.
The girl watched in amazement as the shadow moth danced in the air. It circled the old man’s body once, twice, then disappeared down his ear. The girl gasped and stumbled back.
The old man didn’t react at all.
“Didn’t that hurt?” The girl asked curiously, tipping her head so she could see the old man’s ear better.
There was no sign of the moth. The old man opened his mouth, not to answer, but to send the girl away. He couldn’t understand why such a young child was bothering him on his way home. He was tired, hungry, and all he could think of was his dinner growing cold on the stove.
But then a sharp pain rippled through his head. Pain he had never once experienced before. The little girl drew back, and so did the old man, before he fell to the ground with a sickening thump.
Chaos erupted. Adults surrounded them, shielding the two from the rest of the world, from each other. The next thing the little girl knew, she was with her mum, the playground far behind their backs. Her little hands were held tightly, her eyes locked with a green pair just like hers.
“What happened, bug?”
The little girl’s eyebrows knotted as she tried to collect her memories. She remembered the playground, the swing, the sun’s warmth sticking to her skin, the old man, the dark shadow that followed him, and the…moth. The small, little moth that disappeared into his old, flappy ear.
“Don’t know,” she shrugged, pressure squeezing her chest tight.
Her mum caressed her cheek, the touch gentle, safe, like a whispered bedtime story.
Tears started to gather in the girl’s eyes.
She felt guilty, she just wasn’t sure why.
Her mum’s expression was a mixture of worry and practiced calmness.
She rolled off one of her bracelets, the one made of green crystals, and fixed it around her daughter’s wrist.
“Here,” she said, “remember what we talked about. Stay hidden, stay safe. Sometimes hiding means surviving.” She tucked a loose lock behind her daughter’s ear.
The girl ran her fingers over the cold stones around her wrist.
“You don’t need this anymore?” she asked her mum, who gave her a smile while shaking her head.
“And one day, you won’t either,” she answered, straightening up.
The two walked the long path to the park gate, leaving behind the old man and the ever-growing crowd. Neither of them looked back. So neither of them saw the little dark moth slip from the gaping mouth of the dead old man.