Hello~! First of all, thanks for clicking on my little story, I really appreciate it. ^__^ This is an AU (alternate universe) story, and my first PT fic. There's a lot more info to share, but we'll save that for the actual first chapter. In the meantime, enjoy the prologue!

The Heart of Everything -- Prologue. 1,587 words.

Once upon a time, there was a man who did not die.

Those around him grew; infants to adults, adults to elders, elders to dust. Their children followed. The children of their children followed. Still, he lived.

This is not possible, the greatest of doctors told him. Your last day is near.

Still, he lived.

Incredible, they said. Men gathered close, consumed with longing. Women reached out elegant fingers to cup his cheek, to stroke his storm-colored beard. Children were pressed to his palms in the hopes that maybe this magic would reach them as well. Good sir, they said. Why do you not die?

He could only watch with wild eyes as their breaths grew cold and painful, as their bodies crumpled against the earth like all those before could only laugh.

In truth, the man laughed because death, in all its apparent, dreadful finality, had failed him. He watched once-great leaders wither away and crumble like collapsed monuments, all but forgotten in the dust beneath his feet. He watched tragedy claim coughing infants, pale-faced children and bloodied soldiers. These instances commanded sympathy, but how could he continue to feel such a thing after watching thousands suffer the same tedious predicament before them? If death could not touch him, then why should he pity those who fell before its whims?

Perhaps I have gone mad, he thought, but better to laugh at their pain than to wallow in their misery.

So he did. He chortled at the onset of illness. He grinned at the brutality of crime He applauded war, in all its forms. Over time, he began to find such incidents artistic, even poetic in their brutal simplicity. Tragedy, he realized, was beautiful -- and he hungered for more.

Perhaps this was how his gift came about.

It began simply, quietly. He spoke of a broken marriage hours before it became fact. He gestured to buildings, announced the dates they would collapse, fall victim to arson, or be abandoned. He will be blonde, he told a woman heavy with child, and will not survive the winter.

It is fated, he told them. And so it shall be.

At first, people thought him mad. They kept their distance, frightened by his wild eyes, his frantic laughter. Soon enough, though, crowds began to form -- small at first, then larger as talk of his gift spread. They asked to know of their futures, of their families, of their demises, so seemingly distant. He answered such questions without fail, did not bother to hide his glee when despairing paths unraveled at each stranger's feet.

The specifics of what he said did not matter. Every word bled into countless lives, painfully correct. Whether he had either become so accustomed to life that he could predict the varying, elaborate patterns it could take, or instead had grown so hungry for fresh tragedy that he had developed within himself the ability to call it forward, one could not be sure of. He was never wrong; that was all that mattered to the masses who fell at his feet, humbled.

Such an ability was talked of endlessly, spread from eager mouth to mouth for miles around, and eventually, the man who would not die found himself summoned to a nearby kingdom. For one hundred years, the kingdom had been ravaged by murderous ravens. Surely a man of so many years, of such great power could discover a solution, they reasoned, too ragged to think otherwise. They pleaded for his help, desperate to escape the torment of the ravens. Tell us what to do, they asked

And the man?

The man cast one look upon the newborn prince in his cradle, hair the color of fresh snow, and proclaimed, with irrational certainty, that if he did not marry on the day of his eighteenth birthday, the kingdom would be doomed to languish under the cruelty of the ravens forevermore.

Not just any marriage. A princess would be his bride, one whose heart brimmed full and deep; one whose image bled within the darkened lines of fate.

Her love would prove selfless, he told them.

An act of love would save their land, he told them. Nothing more, nothing less.

There are no princesses living at this time, the people lamented.

Not yet, the man said, and settled in to watch. He watched his words sink their claws deep into the brittle land, taking hold so simply. Ah, he thought. Beginnings are glorious things.

Sure enough, the queen of a distant kingdom soon sent word that she was with child. Months of fervent prayer passed, and at its end, salvation seemed closer than ever; the infant was female, perfect in every way. Celebrations erupted throughout the land, and the Queen and her miraculous child were summoned at once to the castle, where they could be guarded in perfect safety.

So with twenty noble knights, ten brave escorts, and her most beloved handmaid, the Queen set out in her carriage towards the ravaged kingdom, the hope of all the world nestled against her breast.

The carriage traveled for nearly a months' time. The escorts were weary. The knights were weary. The child was weary, screeching day and night. But then the castle rose up in the horizon, so close that all spirits were lifted, assured of success -- when, only hours from arrival, the carriage was attacked by a thousand red-eyed ravens. The knights fell before its doors, their eyes torn out by vicious claws. The escorts took up their weapons, but were themselves split in two. The beloved handmaid, moments before death, touched the face of the infant princess, told the Queen, I will give up my greatest treasure so that this child may live --

What those words may have meant is unknown; a scrap of the story lost to time.

What is known is that when the carriage did not approach the gates on the awaited day, scores of wary men ventured out to discover what had become of it, only to be greeted by a sight imagined in the most horrific of nightmares. A sea of blood and flesh remained, stretching throughout every length of forest. Ten escorts, halved, their separated eyes full of frozen fear. Scraps of skin wrapped in royal purple littered the ground, the only pieces left of the queen and her beloved handmaid. Blood matted the grass where the knights had fallen, but their bodies were absent. The child was gone.

The kingdom mourned. The ravens flourished. Even the castle, once the last true stronghold, began to deteriorate in the face of such hopelessness. No other princess was born. There would never be another.

There must be something, the people cried out as they threw themselves before the man. Tell us what to do, they pleaded.

Wait, he told them, unable to bite back a grin. Pray.

So they did.

Five long years passed, and suddenly, a miracle occurred. A passing boy discovered what he first thought was a young duck along the edge of town. However, as he bent down to look, he realized that it was not a young duck, but a young child; a girl, naked in the grass.

The royal seal rested in the curve of her neck.

The kingdom erupted in euphoria. The princess, found; the future, bright. How had she survived? Five years had felt like five eternities -- but five years beneath the ravens seemed unimaginable. The child could speak, but she spoke only of birds, of ravens and ducks and swans. What could such a thing mean?

In truth, the people thought little of it, for they lingered in despair no longer. Having found their fated princess, they locked her deep within the walls of their impenetrable castle. They would teach her to forget such awful memories. They would keep her safe for twelve short years, the prince and she would marry, and the land would be free forevermore.

Or so it would seem.

For, you see, the man did not like to keep his prophecies sparse, even with this perfect ending set in motion. In only a year's time, he told the people of yet another dismal outcome -- that if the Monster Raven (a force long thought as merely myth) were to devour a heart of royal blood given freely upon the Depths of Despair, all hope would be lost. Only a royal heart would do, but if the Monster Raven could accomplish such a thing before the fated marriage, he would live eternally, with his power over the land unbreakable.

Preposterous, the people said. The only living royal blood left were the destined prince and the miraculous princess, kept safe within the castle walls. The Depths of Despair was a thing of fairytales, a place that could never actually exist despite how people spoke of it. And most importantly, why would the prince and princess ever think to doom themselves by giving their hearts freely to the Monster Raven? Impossible, the people said.

Sick of the man's bleak words, they banished him from the castle. Amused, he took up a simple home on the edge of the forests. The ravens blinked wide eyes upon his presence, but did him no harm.

Thus, he was easily forgotten, and preparations were begun for what would surely be the greatest day that had ever been.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Didn't they?

We shall see. After all, the story is far from over.

Comments are always appreciated! This fic is going to update every Friday for the time being (I feel that I'm far enough in my writing to be able to keep up with that pace. :D), so look forward to the first chapter next week!