It was a day like so many others. Marasol had spent the morning reading in the abandoned wood behind the church. There was a felled tree washed clean by the elements until it gleamed like bone that she liked to climb. The limbs met to form a sort of basket chair that she would sit in and spend her day exploring other worlds until dusk began to set in. It was there that she met her only friends, for Marasol lived a rather solitary existence. Her parents had split up when her mother had decided to up and leave without explanation and now she and her father lived in a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere New England.
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