Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe. Characters you do not recognize were created by me for the purposes of this story. I have made some changes to the region of Silverpines, where most of my story takes place.

This is just a very short prologue introducing my main characters. The next chapter will be up soon, just need to polish it up! In the meantime, let me know what you think! All feedback is appreciated and thank you for taking the time to read! All the best! - Fallon.

Prologue

The Princess lay in a ball on her bed.

She had locked the door, refusing to allow even Jasper to enter. She did not want them to see her so weak and fragile, she was the daughter of a hero and she knew she had to be tough.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks, which she knew were red and warm. She sobbed uncontrollably into the pillow, her brother was leading her love to the firing range and she would never see him again.

She sat up as she heard hollering from the garden. She could not bring herself to go to the window, could not watch as he was murdered for something she did.

Logan had ordered the execution to take place in the garden for two reasons, both of which she knew. One, he wanted her to hear the sound of his body hitting the ground and two, the garden was sacred to her and he wanted to taint it beyond repair.

He was taking two precious things from her, and all she could do was weep on her plushy bed. She was descended from heroes, so why was she so helpless?

That was exactly how she felt – helpless. Like a newborn kitten on the side of the road. And just like that kitten, she was vulnerable and scared, with no one to comfort her.

She wanted her mother. She wanted her hero-father to tell her everything was going to be alright, just as he always did when she was afriad. But they were both dead and gone, and soon her precious Elliot would join them.

She heard the guards cock their guns and held her breath.

They fired.

A body hit the ground.

And she screamed into her pillow.

Many miles away...

A wolf-like creature stood on a hill and howled to the moon. It was long and filled with pain, though the ears of humans could not hear it and others like him did not care enough to listen.

Below it, at the bottom of the hill, stood a single fresh grave with two names:

Seraphina McMaster

Beloved wife and daughter

Age: 19

and

Nathaniel V. McMaster

Son of Seraphina & Fredrick McMaster

Age: 3 weeks

The villagers were told their deaths were of natural causes, but the wolf-like creature knew the truth.

It was his fault.

He was alone now, even in his pack. For they could not feel his pain or know what he knew in his heart to be true – that he would be better off dead.

He hung his head, at least they were buried together.

The fog moved in and the mourning wolf was swallowed by the consuming darkness of the pines.