A/N: i don't know what this is, where it came from, or if i should even continue it. has this been done before? i think i'm crazy, whatever the case. this is a prologue. if one or two people want to keep reading i'll post a first chapter. i'll have a better, less confusing post next time...um, anyway, enjoy my crazy brain child! and review, of course :)

Prologue

The storm brought back memories of a night long ago when the wind was howling through the trees, making their branches sway dangerously, and causing the ocean separating them from the island to become a great churning mass, threatening to overturn anything on the water itself. Memories of secret places and lost friends and darkness and oh so much more—

But as the boy lay sprawled across the bed, listening to the tempest outside that was sure to mean lots of cleanup tomorrow, he was not thinking about nights of past. Instead, in that fateful period when one is not quite asleep but not quite awake, he was thinking of a letter.

The said piece of parchment lay clutched in his hand, wrinkled and torn from being passed around so much in the course of two hours. The writing, scrawled so hastily across the normally blank surface and stamped with the unmistakable seal, had been read over and over, out loud and to oneself, backwards, forwards, and whatever lay in between, and still it made no sense.

The boy turned on his side, eyes leveling upward towards the window and the hurricane-like weather outside. A particularly nasty bought of thunder and lightning wrought through the darken sky; the clouds had turned a sickly green color, and as the light flashed across it the mass would turn a dark, shadowy black.

Once more the boy turned, his back now to the window and the picture it painted of the outside world. As his eyes stared blankly ahead, seeing but not, he rubbed his thumb up and along the paper's edge, sighing wearily at the thought of what it meant for the three of them.

Now flipping so his eyes roamed the ceiling, the boy clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, as if in pain—so many times he was called upon to do things. So many times his key was called for. But this—if the task was not laid lout in front of him, he wasn't entirely sure of what to expect.

Or what to do for that matter.

As he brought up sweaty hands and a piece of paper to wearily rub his sleep deprived eyes, he wondered what he should do—because the written word on its surface did not give a date, did not give a time—it didn't even give a place.

Instead, four words, the last slightly smudged as if the letter was rolled in a hurry.

A loud rack of thunder echoed throughout the sky and caused him to outwardly flinch as he readjusted the blankets and turned once again to face the raging storm outside—what could it possibly mean?

Because, in the end, he was just a boy, with a whole lot of luck, a sprinkling of good friends, and a large key—and the letter was just a piece of paper with four words.

Geostigma

Sin

Heartless—

Beware

i told you i'm craazzy.