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And so our story begins.

Quiet and unassuming. Confusing and disorienting. Because where are we now? Where is our heroine? Is this the beginning, or maybe it is an ending. Or perhaps we’re only part way through.

Because how are you to know when you aren't telling this story?

How were you to know that it doesn't matter.

But to understand the story and who is telling it you need to stop, sit down, and focus, just for a while. Forget that there is anything else, just for a little while and read.

Seek to understand.

Start from the beginning.

Now, once upon a time there was a girl. Now she was nothing terribly special. And if you were to ask most people couldn't tell you who she was nor where you might find her.

But she was always in the same place, sitting high atop a hill, nestled among the branches of a tree. Always hiding with a book grasped in her too small hands. And even those who knew her best didn't know of her tree.

And in that tree she dreamt of far off kingdoms and knights in shining armor and ladies in dresses, pirouetting in a wild sea of colors each a splash of a unique shade that only they could ever match themselves. She wished that she could be anywhere but here. Because when she was here there was nothing for her.

Because even on the brightest of summer days the shadows always loomed high over head. The war she fought was always against the odds that even the mightiest of heroes could never hope to overcome.

Because each walk home, every trip to the market was a battle, and she was so hopelessly out numbered.

But she learned to stand tall, to never let anything bring her to tears. To bottle up all the real emotions she ever felt. Because how could she ever show her weakness?

Because she was never well liked, she was quiet, nervous, shy. Never the center of focus, and certainly never wanted to be. But with every person she couldn't bring herself to even whisper a quiet hello to she made one more enemy. One more person to torment her, then one day when she finally managed to squeak out a greeting of sorts it was far too late.

It started out with the quiet whispers, never to her face, but they spread like wildfire. The whispers grew to jeers on the streets, the jeers turned to theft, turned to pushing and shoving. Turned to actual harm. But with every passing day even as it got worse she never backed down. Until she was left lying unconscious in a field. Because how do you explain that. How do you hear so much about yourself and not internalize it. How do you navigate that people are unkind, hurtful even. How could she tell her self that they were all wrong, that they always were?
And she decided to turn herself into a chameleon, hiding away from the world, from the pain. To escape the cruel words.

Because such a thing is never precipitated by a single event, it is a long series of pain and sorrow that pushes our heroine over the edge.

And so our story begins.