~Prologue~

A Picture of the Sky

Mary hummed to herself as she scribbled in her notebook. Her tiny hands working furiously to fill in the picture of the sky she had just drawn. She wanted it to be perfect – wanted it to look just like one of Papa's works - wanted it to look just like the REAL sky – wanted it to look just like she remembered it…

"Papa?

"Yes Mary?"

"Can you teach me how to draw?"

"I've already taught you darling."

"I know that… But I want… I want to be as good as you."

"Then practice - every day, just as I have done. And in a few years, you'll be as good as me."

"Years? But Papa, that's so far away!"

"Don't fret Mary. You've all the time in the world. Just be patient."

"… Okay."

Mary shoved a colored drawing into her father's face, who paused but a second to glance at the crude depiction of himself, his late wife, and Mary herself.

"Weeeelllll?" Mary asked as she rocked on her heels, "What do you think of it?"

"It's good."

"But it isn't good enough. I want to be better." The blonde pouted as she snatched her picture back from her father.

"Patience dear… You have plenty of time to bloom into a fantastic artist." Guertena reminded, before patting his daughter on the head and shooing her out of his work station.

Mary stomped out of the room, clearly not happy with the results of the conversation with her father.

"This isn't even good" she whined as she stared at her drawing once more, before ripping the page down the middle and discarding the two halves in the hallway and continuing to her room.

Mary was sitting in the yard, admiring all of the beautiful roses that bloomed in the fenced off area of their garden. She and mommy used to water them together, but now that mommy was gone, the task was left to her.

She missed mommy and wished they could all be a happy family together again, but she was old enough to know that wasn't possible. She just wished Papa would be happier… like he used to be. Before, his art work used to be so up-beat and beautiful, but since mommy's death, his art had become more twisted and sinister.

She had come out here to work on a drawing of the sky and of the roses, but the few drawings she had done weren't very good, and weren't as good as Papas. She only wanted to be good like him so she could cheer him up and remind him what fun it was to draw happier things.

"I know what will cheer Papa up!" Mary exclaimed as an idea struck her, "I'll make a bouquet of roses! Mommy used to always make bouquets!"

They had all the colors of roses you could think of in their garden. Mommy had worked really hard to get all of them, but there were three particular colors she wanted.

"Red for mommy, because it's the color of her favorite dress" Mary sang as she clipped several of the red roses.

"Yellow for me, cause it matches my hair" she clipped a couple yellow ones.

"And… I want one that reflects the mood Papa's been in… I want… Blue" she frowned to herself when she remembered they didn't have any blue roses, she supposed she could pick another color, but she really REALLY wanted blue ones.

"Well…" she sing-songed as she clipped several white roses, "I can always paint these ones blue!"

Mary knew her Papa was mad with her as soon as she saw his face.

"MARY!" her father shouted as he snatched the tube of blue paint away from her, "What we're you thinking? This paint is very expensive, you know better than to play with it!"

Mary shrunk back into herself, her now unoccupied hands gripping the fabric of her dress, not liking that she was being scolded for trying to make her Papa happy - for trying to get his attention.

"I just… I just wanted to make you happy." She mumbled quietly.

"And you thought wasting my paint would make me happy?"

"N-no Papa, it isn't like that! I was just trying to-" she tried defending herself, only to be cut off by her father.

"No Mary, that's enough with your excuses. Go to your room."

Mary's eyes watered, "I don't wanna go to my room Papa. I just want-"

"Mary! Go to your room now. I think you need to sit in there by yourself and think about what you have done."

"By myself?" Mary gasped, tears now falling freely from her blue eyes, "No Papa! I don't want to be alone anymore! I just want you to be happy, so I can be happy! So we don't have to be alo-"

"That's enough!" her father roared, effectively frightening the young girl, "Go to your room!"

"I hate you!" Mary cried as she fled from the room, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Mary!"

She could hear her father's worried call from her spot in the large tree she was hiding in, in the woods not too far from her home.

Normally when she was sad, she would go to the rose garden, but she knew once her father realized she wasn't in her room, that would be the first place he would look. So she opted instead to go hide in the woods, and she had scrambled into the largest tree she could find which over looked a large wild rose garden that lie nestled multiple feet below the overhanging cliff the forest occupied.

"Mary!" her father called again, "Mary I'm so sorry. I found the bouquet you made. I realize now that I should have just listened to you."

Mary froze as she heard her father's words, peeking her head out of all the leaves to spy her father.

"It's lonely without you Mary. Please come home."

"Papa." Mary whispered, and Guertena looked up at the sound of her voice and spotted her.

"Mary" he gaped, "How did you get up there? It's dangerous. Come down and we will go home. And you won't ever have to be alone ever again."

"Okay." Mary called, a smile gracing her features as she scrambled from her spot on one of the limbs to another, lower limb.

"I love you Papa. All I want is for us to be a happy family aga-" Mary's confession was cut short as she lost her grip on the limb she was hanging on and tumbled through the leaves and branches.

"Mary!" Guertena yelled as he rushed forward at the sound of his daughter's terrified scream.

Mary stared at her father's desperate face as she fell; sure the same look of horror was mirrored on her own face as she realized she was not only falling out of the tree but also over the edge of the overhanging cliff.

The last thing Mary saw was the oranges and purples from the evening sky before everything melted to black as she fell into the bed of roses below and into eternal sleep.

Mary frowned as she stared down at the crude coloring of the sky she still remembered so vividly.

"Papa was wrong," she mumbled as she discarded the picture and began on another one, "I didn't have all the time in the world to get better at drawing… And I'm alone, again."