The Writers' Circle

From the Old Ones, she will come
Line from an old Isles poem

Prologue.
It was a long time ago when it started. When the magic creatures roamed wild and free without worry or fear. The years of wonder. When there were unicorns, dragons and centaurs. Whole flocks of phoenixes. But then the humans took over...
Humans hunted the dragons and made killers saints. They murdered the unicorn and called it a myth. Centaurs fled to the deepest forests along with any magical creature that had not been taken by surprise. Perhaps they are still there.
And then the humans turned on their own race. 
One by one great witches and wizards were picked out with the innocents. Their shrieks, cries and pleas for help as the flames consumed them haunted all.
A group of witches and wizards decided they had had enough. They escaped by ship, hoping to find a new land that would accept them. Tired of hiding, they wanted somewhere they could be free.
Their journey took many days and many nights. Too afraid to stop, they would have continued following the ocean to its end. But on the fiftieth day, they are said to have found an island. They are said to have seen a unicorn on the shore and it guided them. No matter what may have happened, they have never been seen again in this world.
Or that's what the humans believed.
For on that island the group concealed themselves in spells. Others soon followed them. Others from different countries condemning magic. So on this island they all gathered. On this island they built villages and towns. They met others, like themselves but not, who accepted them and some became their friends.
And after the peaceful times and then the last battle at the River Rose, they were there still. And one young girl could destroy it all.
*
	Night changes things. In this darkness, my small room is transformed into something much more spooky. Although I know the dark shape on the other side of the room is my cloak and the teeth of some terrifying monster by my closet is just my broom, it still doesn't stop me watching and waiting for it to get closer and consume me.
Just when I can't bear it any longer, I turn on the light. This lessens my fear but not completely. I can't help but wonder what lies in the shadows, outside my room, outside my window.
The wardrobe moves.
I jump out of bed, a cry halfway on my lips.
Then my cat stops scratching the unsteady wardrobe and wanders over to me, purring, having got somebody up to feed her. I sigh.
"Come on Lucinda," I stroke her as she winds in and out my legs. 
I edge over to the wardrobe, slightly tentatively, and lift my shawl from the door. As I do so, I take a moment to gaze out the window at the collection of weirdly shaped houses. The moonlight picks out the tall, pointy roofs. They look like the tops of towers, growing out of the ground. Caught by the sight, as I always am, I open the window and breathe in the cool, early morning air. A sense of peacefulness and calm wash over me as I survey the small village in which I live.
Well, not a village. An omble.
Academies of Magic set up these ombles for their students to live in while they study there. Much more convenient than transporting yourself backwards and forwards between home and school. It also creates a sense of individuality, I guess. My Academy, Tranquillity, is one of the four main schools for magic in the Isles. Set up by the Old Ones. I remember coming here when I was ten. I was so frightened that everyone else would be better than me. I needn't have worried. True magic only gets released at ten so there would have been no opportunity for extra lessons. A year ago, I was in one of the carer houses. A group of ten to each house and you have to share rooms. There would be one teacher per house. You have to stay in the carer houses until you are old enough to "take on the responsibility of living on your own". Sometimes it was crowded, as it always is with a group of youngsters incapable of controlling their magic yet. Oh, we had a few accidents; a couple of people sent to healing wards but all in all, we were a pretty good group. That was what the teachers thought anyway.
Now I have my own room, decorated my way rather than having to abide by the rules of the teachers in the carer houses. I have all my sketches stuck up around the walls. They aren't very good. I mainly use pencil and draw the views I see over the Isles in my favourite haunts. Around the window is a series of tiny imps made out of paper. It took me ages to perfect them and now, they glow orange as my lamp light hits them.
Over the roofs of the houses, the bright moon hangs in the dark sky. It reminds me of how early in the morning it still is. I drape my shawl around my shoulders and head downstairs, yawning and nearly tumbling over a few times. 
I come to the kitchen, after bumping into the wall beside the door first. The light is somehow already on and it startles me slightly after the dim stairwell. Someone is already sitting at the table.
"Hey Cass," my housemate smiles at me, weakly. Heather is tall, much taller than me, with long sweeping black hair with a few strands at the front coloured purple. She has perfect dark skin and her eyes stand out vividly in her face, a bright amethyst colour.
"Heather? What are you doing up?"
Heather gives me a look. "You have remembered we have an early class this morning, right?"
I jump and run back up the steps, leaving Lucinda meowing indignantly behind me. I hear Heather's sigh. And a disappointed Heather is not a good thing in the morning.