"Run," those were her last words.
"Mother!" a girl screamed, as she watched her mother's throat being slit.
She ran quickly. Past the bright tents that marked their distinct gypsy camp. Her sister was dying with a knife in her heart, and the girl resisted the urge to stop, knowing it would only lead to her own capture. She ran through the crowded streets of the village. She ran into the forest. She clearly remembered the face of her father stretched on the floor, the soldiers sword still in his back, his soaking in a pool of blood.
She cursed the castle guards that had come to their camp, and killed her sister, mother, and father. However, she knew that there was no way she could stand against them now. Her screams were heard in the evening sky, and she ran through the tightly woven forest.
The sunset bled like the bitter end. When she could run no more she stopped in the middle of the forest. She realized she was hopelessly lost. She also realized that she did not care, she doubted that she would ever care about anything again. Nothing, except for revenge. She swore an oath, that she would avenge their deaths. The sky clouded over and rain clouds dumped their tears on her. She didn't care, she screamed her oath to the sky, over and over again.
She was still screaming when she woke up. She put her face in her hands. Every night it was the same exact memories.
She had to do something about this. That night it had been particularly bad.
Every day she trained with the animals, and she learned from the plants. But every night those dreams, hunted her down, every night, they were more painful, more vivid. She shook her head, and sighed sadly.
"There is no reason to dwell on it," she told herself firmly.
She got up and looked around the tree house, and sighed again. This time a ghost of a smile touched her lips, and the sigh had lost its mournful ring. It was her way of reminding herself that she was going to get revenge one day, but for now she had everything she could wish for. She had a wonderful tree house. She had plant and animal friends. She had her own forest, with barriers of woven ivy and trees through which no one could pass. She missed the constant travel of a gypsy life, but she had a home. A home she loved and cared for like a living thing, after all, it was a living thing.
Her name was Ivy. Ivy Nightshade. And she knew the forgotten languages of the plants and the animals.