3. Chapter Three
Nobody could make sense of why the girl had died. It was in the newspapers, that the orphan, fifteen and still without a house to call her home, had perished in the night.
Of course, they examined her body. Found nothing. Her heart had been healthy; suicide was out of the question. Her death was not of suffocation.
So they tried testing for poison.
Her body showed only a few old scars; no new marks of pain were to be found.
It had the medical world in confusion, scientists into a frenzy as they studied with frustration the possible ways for the girl to die. And still, they found nothing. She had daydreamed, said her teachers and classmates from her school. She's been strange, solitary.
But never, in their eyes, a girl who welcomed death.
Avalon knew this 'death' by a different name. Freedom. Rolädyn.
And perhaps, that's all death really was. Perhaps, she was the only one smart enough to see it, the only one smart enough to keep that 'imaginary' friend in her mind, where others had abandoned their's as children.
Avalon had never, not once, abandoned Dusk for the hell of humanity.
And Dusk had never abandoned her.