You have heard of fairy tales. Myths and legends. Things that are told don't exist in this world. Things that aren't real. The catch?

They are real.

Realer than you think.

And Wren Carezby knew it the day she saw it all with her own two eyes.

Wren had lived with her uncle all her life, as long as she could remember. They lived in London, Caveshield Cottage. Her uncle was in his mid-30s, and he had quite an amount of tattoos - a wolf tattoo on his arm and a flower on his neck. He worked for long hours in the travel agency and had an amount of hobbies unlike Wren; for example, fishing and roasting air conditioner companies whenever he found that one of their electronics weren't working.

Wren had never actually bothered asking about what happened to her parents, until one day when her uncle picked her up from school, she asked that very question.

'Why, you've never asked that question before,' her uncle said, raising an arched eyebrow as he looked at her in the rearview mirror. She had been sitting at the back of the car, arms folded. She was nine then. 'What made you ask that?'

Wren sighed. 'Everyone in class calls me a freak! They asked me if you were my dad. I said no. And they asked "Who is he?" and of course, I based my answer on the truth. I said you were my uncle. Then they laughed, like it was something so funny and started asking dumb questions like, "What happened to your mommy?" Wren imitated their voices.

There was a short silence. Her uncle let out a slight sigh and said, 'Look, they're just kids. They do dumb stuff. But you're not dumb, Wren. You don't take notice of them. So what you're gonna do is ignore them. Everytime they make a comment on your parents. Eana wouldn't -' he stopped himself, as if realising he had just made a mistake. Wren didn't let go of him so easily.

'Who's Eana?' she said coldly.

Her uncle stiffened. 'Look, just - just ignore the kids in school, alright? Move on with your own life.'

He was avoiding the question Wren had made. All she did was scowl as her uncle parked the car in the garage. 'We're here. Help me unload the groceries.'

Wren had never talked about her parents ever since then. She felt as if she didn't want to know what happened. Everytime she talked about other people's parents, or just said the word parents, her uncle would stiffen.

And Wren had always noticed the way he stiffened. The way his shoulders jabbed back. The way his face fell. And she never forgot the time he'd mentioned Eana, whoever he or she was. Whatever it was. 

If going to school and eating ice-cream and having the condition of heterochromia was labelled under average, Wren was just an average teenager of fourteen. She liked reading, doing quiet activities and wasn't a fan of socialising, however hard her uncle persisted her to go out and make friends for a change.

But if having two uneven-coloured eyes, one red and the other green, that glowed whenever she got angry or excited or felt any strong emotion was labelled under not average, then Wren wasn't average.

The fact that her eyes glowed into a saturated colour whenever she felt strong emotions ... it was disturbing. She knew this didn't happen to average people with heterochromia. Apparently, her uncle couldn't find an answer to why this happened to her, nor could an eye doctor.

Wren was convinced she was perfectly normal.

                                                                            ⋆‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙⋆

February 17, 1996

There was a knock at the door and it opened slightly.

'Still up?' said her uncle from the door, watching Wren as she shone a torchlight on a page of a book she was reading. 'Well, don't stay up too late - you have school tomorrow, kid.'

'Mm.'

'At least turn on the damn lights,' said Uncle Hunter, reaching for the switch.

'No, I like reading in the dark,' said Wren, looking up. 'It has a more ...vibey feel. It feels good. I've got this torchlight.' She held up her torch. 'Leave the lights as they are, please.'

Her uncle grimaced. 'I don't remember puberty being like this when I was fourteen.'

'Because this isn't puberty. This is liking.' Wren settled back into her pillows. 'Like the fact you enjoy watching fish struggle in your fishing net.'

'Point. Well all I'm trying to say is lights out in ten, and put the book away.'

'Have you heard of who Eana is?' said Wren, clearly ignoring her uncle.

Her uncle leaned on the door. 'Who?'

'Eana. She's a famous legend.'

He shifted slightly. 'What book you got there, kid?'

'I don't know, some library book. It just says that Eana's a famous legend in the early nineteenth century. Just wondering if you knew her.'

'Like ... literally?'

Wren looked at him oddly/ 'She's a goddamn legend, Uncle.'

'Still doesn't prove the fact that she doesn't exist.' shrugged her uncle.

Wren opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, sitting up straight. 'She's real?'

'Who?'

'Eana. You knew her? Literally?'

'I - no!' protested her uncle. 'I was just saying. I don't know who Eana is. Heard of her as a legend ... but didn't know her literally. If she even is real.' He scratched the back of his ear.

Wren shut the book. 'I guess.'

'Going to sleep?' asked her uncle hopefully.

'Yes.'

'Night, Wren.'

                                                                            ⋆‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙⋆

A bell rang, jerking Wren up from her daydream. Students shifted in and out of view as they left literature class in groups, talking and laughing loudly. Wren groaned and stuffed her book into her bag.

'Miss Wren!'

She slung the bag over her shoulder and looked up at the teacher's table. 'Yes, Miss Lora?'

If she wasn't mistaken, she caught a hint of a smile in her literature teacher's face. 'Good work on the test yesterady, Wren. You did a great job. Full marks.'

'Oh.' Wren hitched her bag higher over her shoulder. 'Well. Thanks.'

'Keep it up.' Her teacher gave her an encouraging smile. 'Don't forget about the reading assignment. Pick a book from the library and read a chapter from it then you're required to write a summary of it.'

'Got it. Thanks,' Wren smiled back at her teacher before leaving the room. 

Swarms of students roved around in the corridor, making their way to lunch. Wren always had lunch when she went home after school. She tried to focus on making her way to the library, ignoring the many stares she received from people and whispers they exchanged behind their hands about her eyes. She knew they were talking about her eyes. Everything was about her eyes. About her.

To Drimton Prep School, she was not labelled as ordinary.

Because no one had glowing red and green eyes, and no one had ever stopped a tap in the girls' bathroom from leaking by shouting at it to 'Stop!'.

Until this day, Wren had no idea why and how she did it. She figured she could stop tears from flowing down a third-grade kid's face when she'd caught him crying in the corridor one afternoon. She'd figured she could refill a dry pond by merely wanting to do so, so that the nearby dying toad could hydrate itself.

She tried keeping all those weird, abnormal things she did out of her mind as long as she could.

'Hey, Wren!' called a familiar voice from behind her. Wren groaned. She turned around. 'Not now, Ethan,' she said, hunching her bag over her shoulder. 'I'm busy.'

'You don't look like you're busy,' Ethan said, catching up with her. Wren rolled her eyes. Ethan was talkative - he was kind of like a walkie-talkie but in the human form. He was very people-oriented, and he loved making friends. He was probably the only person Wren could consider a friend of.

'I'm going to the library,' Wren said, walking alongside Ethan.

'You know you're weird? It's lunch.'

'One: I'm gonna take "weird" as a compliment, and two: I always go to the library during lunch.'

'Aren't you hungry?'

'No.' Wren entered the library, Ethan still tagging behind her. 'Why are you here?'

'Oh, I had to pick up a literature book for English. Ms Lora told us to. Did you pick yours already?'

'Yup.' Wren pulled out To Kill a Mockingbird out of her bag and showed it to Ethan. 'To Kill a Mockingbird,' he read. 'Wow. A classic.'

'Exactly. What have you got in mind?' Wren asked, setting her bag down beside a red beanbag.

'Well, I've considered The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but I thought that was a tad too dramatic, so -'

'So?' Wren said, browsing for books.

'So I'm here, finding for a good literature book. And a short one, if possible. Got any ideas?'

'Define "short".'

'Like, short short,' Ethan said, browsing the literature bookshelf. 'Is Lord of the Rings considered literature? It sounds interesting.'

'It is interesting,' Wren said matter-of-factly, tucking a lock of wavy auburn red hair  behind her ear as she pulled out a book entitled Myths and Legends of Elryzian, plopped on her beanbag and started reading.

'You know, I never understood why we had to choose literature,' Ethan's voice floated in the air. 'Might as well be children's fiction or something.'

'We're in ninth grade, Ethan,' Wren reminded him. 'I know you're jealous of those little sixth-grade midgets who colour in their colouring books, but does it look like we've got a choice? Nope. Now shut up and let me read.'

She began reading the first chapter. Ethan was tutting to himself, clicking his tongue and making a huge amount of noises, but Wren blocked him out of her mind as she read. She was absorbed in the book until she came across the word 'Eana'. 

The very name she'd read last night, and somehow, she felt like she'd heard of the name before. She whispered it to herself, 'Eana, Eana, Eana,' hoping it would trigger a memory -

'So what you're gonna do is ignore them. Everytime they make a comment on your parents. Eana wouldn't - her uncle had cut himself off.

Wren let out a slight gasp. Five years ago.

'Everything alright?' Ethan's voice said from behind her. She didn't reply. She was frozen - a million thoughts racing.' Ethan waved a hand in front of her. 'Hello? Earth-to-Wren?'

Wren took no notice. All that she could think about was that her uncle had mentioned Eana five years ago.

Did he know who Eana was, then?