Stolen Fate

"Where are we going, Daphne?" Three-and-a-half-year-old Hazel panted, her short little legs pumping hard against the damp morning earth. She struggled to keep pace with the older girl's brisk strides.

It was barely six in the morning. A thick, silvery mist still clung to the grounds of the orphanage, wrapping the aging brick buildings in a quiet hush. The rest of the children were still deep in their dreams, tucked away in their warm beds. But not these two. They were already dressed and marching straight toward the farthest, most isolated corner of the property.

Hazel slowed to a halt, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She threw an uncertain glance back over her shoulder at the looming silhouette of the main building.

"Daphne, I wanna go back," Hazel pleaded, her big eyes filled with a heavy dose of anxiety. "Mrs. Mercer said Mr. Prescott is coming today to take me home. I have to be ready. He is going to be my new daddy."

Daphne stopped. She turned around, the morning dew wetting the hem of her worn dress. A soft, patient smile graced her face, a mask that hid a darkness stretching far beyond her three years of age. She reached out, taking Hazel's small hand in hers.

"Didn't you tell me you lost your necklace?" Daphne asked, her voice light and persuasive. "I saw it. It is in that little musty shed up ahead. I will help you find it, and then we can go back together."

Hazel shifted her weight from foot to foot, chewing on her lower lip. "But... but..."

"Come on," Daphne urged, tightening her grip on the younger girl's wrist. "That precious purple gemstone necklace is important. It came from your real parents, right? You cannot leave it behind. And Mr. Prescott is a wealthy man. He loves you. He will wait for you. He is not going anywhere without his new daughter."

Before Hazel could offer another word of protest, Daphne practically dragged her toward the decaying structure at the edge of the woods.

The heavy wooden door creaked, groaning on rusted hinges. A thick cloud of stale dust exploded into the damp air, swirling around them in the dim light. The inside of the shed was pitch black, smelling of rotting wood, mold, and forgotten things.

Hazel wrinkled her nose. She took a step back, her small frame shivering in the morning chill. "Daphne, are you sure my necklace is in there? I cannot see anything. It is too dark."

Daphne did not offer a reassuring word. She did not answer at all. Instead, she stepped behind Hazel, planted her hands on the younger girl's back, and shoved her hard.

Hazel stumbled forward into the suffocating darkness. Her knees hit the hard dirt floor with a painful thud.

"Daphne!" Hazel shrieked, twisting around just in time to see the heavy wooden door slam shut in her face. The rusty latch clicked into place from the outside with a heavy, final sound.

Scrambling to her feet, Hazel pounded her small fists against the rough wood. "Daphne, please! Let me out! Mr. Prescott is coming to take me home today! I have to be there!"

Outside, Daphne stood expressionless. She locked the door tight, ignoring the frantic, desperate screams for help echoing from within. Without a single glance back, she turned on her heel and walked away.

A few moments later, as she strolled back toward the main building, Daphne reached into her pocket. Her fingers brushed against something hard and cold. She pulled it out into the morning light.

It was a purple gemstone necklace. The stones were cut with pristine precision, sparkling like captured stars against the dull fabric of her dress. Even at her young age, Daphne knew this piece of jewelry was rare and valuable. She slipped the stolen treasure back into her pocket, a satisfied smirk touching her lips.

By the time Daphne reached the playground, the sun had fully crested the horizon, casting a golden glow over the orphanage. A few early-morning volunteers clustered near the swings, whispering over their clipboards.

"Hazel is so lucky, huh?" one volunteer murmured. "The Prescott family is rolling in money, and they actually seem like decent people."

"Yeah," another agreed with a sigh. "She is going to be a Prescott princess now."

"Hey, someone needs to go grab Hazel. She needs to get ready before he arrives."

Daphne clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth as she listened to their idle chatter. Her gaze shifted toward the front gates. Standing next to Headmistress Gwen Mercer was Arthur Prescott, the wealthiest man in Oakhaven City. He looked sharp and polished in his tailored suit, a stark contrast to the rundown orphanage.

Daphne's hands balled into fists at her sides. She harbored a bitter, triumphant thought in her mind. 'This time, it is my turn to be the Prescott family's beloved princess.'

Meanwhile, isolated in the pitch-black shed, Hazel sat on the dirt floor, crying until her throat felt raw. She shouted for help over and over, but the shed was too far from the main building. No one could hear her cries.

Hours seemed to drag by. Her voice grew hoarse, reducing her desperate screams to quiet, broken sobs. As her eyes finally adjusted to the gloom, she noticed a small window near the ceiling. It was old, the glass cracked and covered in thick layers of cobwebs, and it sat dizzyingly high up.

Beneath the window sat a precarious, unstable pile of rotting firewood.

Hazel wiped her tear-streaked face, smearing dirt and grime across her pale cheeks. She approached the woodpile, her small hands grabbing a jagged log. She pulled herself up. The logs shifted under her weight. She slipped, her shins scraping against the rough bark. She tumbled back to the dirt floor, gasping as pain flared in her legs.

But the thought of Mr. Prescott waiting for her pushed her back to her feet. She climbed again. Her tiny fingers dug into the splinters. She slipped, fell, and climbed back up, fighting through the sting in her hands. After what felt like an eternity of struggling, she finally reached the top of the pile, clinging desperately to the decaying window frame.

A massive green spider sat right in the center of the sill. It was bulky and terrifying, surrounded by the dried husks of bugs it had caught in its web.

Hazel froze, her puffy eyes widening in fear. Her little hand, coated in gray dust, gripped the wood tight. She held her breath, too scared to move.

Then, the massive spider shifted. It scuttled to the far corner of the frame, clearing a path toward the cracked glass.

Through her sniffles, Hazel let out a wet hiccup. She looked at the creature, a fragile sense of gratitude washing over her. "You are a good bug," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Thanks."

She squeezed through the broken pane, a sticky spiderweb catching in her messy hair. But as she looked down at the ground outside, her heart hammered in her chest. The drop was terrifying. The grass below looked miles away.

A fresh wave of tears spilled down her dirty face. 'It is so high! Am I going to die if I jump?'

She squeezed her bloodshot eyes shut. She pictured Arthur Prescott's kind face. She pictured a real home. She wiped her tears away with the back of her dirty hand, pressed her lips into a tight line, and pushed herself out the window.

She plummeted.

A sharp, agonizing pain shot through her small hands and knees the moment she struck the hard ground. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs. She lay in the dirt for a moment, gasping for air, her tiny body trembling from the shock. Once the sharpest edge of the pain dulled, Hazel gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand.

'The sun is so bright now,' she told herself, pumping her small fists to gather courage. 'Mr. Prescott has to be here by now. I cannot waste any more time. I need to get back.'

The skin on her soft, pale palms was torn and bleeding. Blood ran down her small legs, dripping steadily from her scraped knees onto the earth below.

As she began her agonizing march back toward the main building, Hazel focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. Because of this, she did not notice the impossible phenomenon happening in her wake.

The moment her blood droplets touched the dry, trampled grass, the blades flared into a vibrant, glowing green. They grew at an unnatural, rapid pace, sprouting tall and thick, thriving instantly upon contact with her spilled blood.

She kept walking, her tiny footprints leaving a trail of miraculous, flourishing life across the orphanage grounds.

By the time she neared the playground, her legs felt like lead. A volunteer carrying a basket of laundry spotted her from a distance.

The volunteer dropped the basket. Clothes spilled across the dirt. Her eyes went wide with sheer horror as she rushed forward. "Oh my god! Hazel, what happened to you?!"

Hazel looked up. Her face was streaked with a mixture of dirt, tears, and black grime. When she recognized the volunteer, a fresh wave of emotion hit her. Her nose tingled, but she swallowed hard, fighting to hold her tears back.

"Miss," Hazel whispered, her voice barely carrying over the morning breeze. "Where is Mr. Prescott? Is he still waiting for me?"

The volunteer froze. She stared at Hazel's bloodshot eyes, her expression twisting into one of deep confusion. "Hazel, what are you talking about? Didn't you say you rejected the new family?"

The words hit Hazel like a bucket of ice water. She burst into fresh tears, frantically wiping her face with her injured hand, smearing fresh blood across her cheek. "I didn't! I never said that! I want to go with him!"

The volunteer shook her head, her face pale. "But Daphne told everyone you did. She said you hid away in the woods because you decided you didn't want to go to the Prescott family. She said you were hoping your real parents would come back for you instead."

Hearing that devastating lie, Hazel's sobs hitched in her throat. She looked up, her big red eyes overflowing with profound confusion and deep hurt. She shook her head wildly, her messy hair flying around her face. "I didn't! I didn't say that! She lied!"

Hazel pushed past the volunteer, her small, battered legs marching determinedly toward the director's office. "I need to talk to Mr. Prescott. I need to tell him it is a mistake. I am ready to go home!"

She barely managed two steps before a pair of strong arms scooped her up off the ground.

The volunteer held the squirming little girl tight, her face caught in a struggle of pity and sorrow. She let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Hazel, stop. Do not go in there. Mr. Prescott already adopted Daphne. They left a while ago."

Hazel froze. Her small body went rigid in the volunteer's arms. She slowly turned her head, her lips trembling uncontrollably. The tears stopped falling.

The weight of the betrayal and the crushing loss slammed into her all at once. The bright morning sun seemed to dim. The world around her warped and faded, draining into an endless, suffocating black void.

The last thing she registered before the darkness swallowed her whole was the volunteer's frantic, panicked scream echoing in the distance.

"Oh no! Hazel!"

When Hazel finally blinked her heavy eyelids open, the room was bathed in the dim, orange glow of the evening sun. She rubbed her eyes out of instinct, but a dull throb stopped her.

She looked down. Her small hands were wrapped in thick, white bandages, looking like clumsy little mittens. She stared at them, her mind foggy and confused.

The door to the clinic room suddenly swung open. A group of kids burst inside, their voices loud and chaotic, bouncing off the walls.

"Okay, okay, that is enough. Go play outside in the hall. Do not bother Hazel while she is resting." The authoritative voice of Headmistress Gwen Mercer cut through the noise. The kids grumbled softly but reluctantly filed back out into the corridor.

The room fell quiet again as Gwen pulled the door shut. She walked over and took a seat on the edge of the small bed. Her face was etched with deep lines of worry.

"Hazel," Gwen started, her tone gentle but probing. "What happened this morning? Where did you go? You promised me last night you were excited to go to the Prescott family. What happened? Why did you change your mind and hide?"

The accusation stung. Hazel's eyes welled up instantly, spilling hot tears onto her cheeks. Her voice came out shaky and hoarse. "I didn't... I didn't want to hide! I wanted to go!"

A wave of agonizing injustice washed over her. She threw her small body forward, burying her face into Gwen's chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It was Daphne!" Hazel cried, her small, bandaged fists grabbing at Gwen's shirt. "Daphne locked me up! Mrs. Mercer, it was Daphne!"

She cried so hard her tears soaked right through the fabric of the headmistress's blouse.

"She is so mean!" The poor little girl was desperate to explain the horrific betrayal, to make the adult understand the depth of her pain. But at only three and a half years old, the trauma tangled her thoughts. Her words tumbled out in a frantic, jumbled mess.

Gwen frowned, straining to piece together the broken sentences. She could barely make out a few frantic phrases: morning, woodshed, locked door, big green spider.

Gwen patted Hazel's trembling back, her heart swelling with conflicting emotions. She looked down at the weeping child, her mind racing. Daphne was just three years old, too. Gwen struggled to believe that a toddler could possess the calculated cruelty required to orchestrate such a malicious scheme. The entire scenario seemed far too complex for a child Daphne's age.

Just that morning, Daphne had stood in Gwen's office, her face a picture of innocent concern, claiming Hazel had secretly confessed she did not want the Prescott family. Daphne said she had hidden away out of fear.

They were just toddlers. Gwen felt torn right down the middle, unsure of whose reality was the truth.

She quietly listened to Hazel's painful sobs for another moment. She reached for a tissue and gently wiped the tears from the little girl's flushed cheeks.

"Sweetie," Gwen whispered softly. "Let's not talk about this for now. Let me figure things out first, okay?"

Hazel froze. She pushed herself back, looking up at the headmistress. Her face, flushed and swollen from crying, contorted in shock. The sting of betrayal cut deeper than the scrapes on her knees.

"You... you don't believe me?!" Hazel gasped.

"I do believe you," Gwen said softly, though the hesitation in her eyes betrayed her words. "I know you are a good girl, Hazel. You don't lie."

Gwen reached out again to dab at the tears, but Hazel stubbornly twisted away. Fresh tears fell like a broken string of pearls, and her tiny voice cracked with raw, unbridled emotion.

"You are lying! You don't believe me at all!"

Gwen sighed, shaking her head. "Daphne is strong-willed, sure, but I do not think she would intentionally hurt anyone. You two have both been with me since you were babies. I need to figure out exactly what happened before I make a decision."

Something inside Hazel snapped. The one person she trusted to protect her was taking the side of the girl who stole her future. Hazel aggressively pulled away from Gwen's reach. She grabbed the edge of her blanket, yanked it over her small shoulders, and curled into a tight ball on the far side of the bed. She left nothing but an angry, trembling little back facing the director.

"You are so biased!" Hazel shouted into the pillow, her voice muffled but fierce. "You always pick Daphne!"

"Hazel, please, be careful with your injuries," Gwen warned, a spike of genuine concern lacing her tone.

Hazel ignored her. She clenched her bandaged hands into tight fists. The raw, throbbing pain radiating from her torn palms made her face turn pale, but she stubbornly held her ground.

"I don't care!" Hazel snapped back, refusing to turn around. "You just care about Daphne!"

"No, sweetie, I just—"

Before Gwen could finish her sentence, a rapid, frantic knock echoed through the room. The wooden door swung open. A breathless volunteer rushed inside, her eyes wide with urgency.

"Mrs. Mercer," the volunteer panted, holding up a hand to catch her breath. "There is a call for you on the main line. Someone wants to discuss adopting a child."