It was a cold December night. The wind howled ominously, and the trees whined in distress as they were tossed about by the storm. The moon and stars were blocked by thick clouds that cast a heavy darkness over the small town of Ravenswood. In the middle of the lane, a lone streetlight sputtered amidst the cold night, threatening to leave the town under a blanket of darkness. There were no movements, no sounds. The town would have been taken for a deserted one to a person passing by. All shutters were closed, all doors were bolted, all lights were out. There wasn’t a sign of life.

A small church stood in a secluded corner of the town. Its door groaned on its hinges and the scratched blue shutters rattled against its brick walls. Through the storm, a figure could be seen beside the church door. A young girl, no older than fifteen – still a child. She wore a white ruffled nightgown, with bows and frills along the hemlines.  Her thick white-blonde curls danced in the harsh wind and her unexpressive mismatched eyes (the left a shining blue and the right a silvery grey) stared out into the black distance. Her milky pale skin looked almost ghostly in contrast the darkness around her. Her resemblance was stunningly that of a porcelain doll – smooth, rose petal lips, lifeless, lusterless eyes, and a high, placid forehead.

She shuffled her bare feet through the dead grass surrounding the church, her fingers gliding along a metal fence that stood adjacent to the old building. Unlatching the gate, she stepped into the graveyard. She often wandered there – alone – in the wake of the morning. Many a days she’d spend hours on end reading the inscriptions on the cracked stones. Her small lips moved in a silent, monotonous chant as she recited the names engraved onto the headstones. She held a certain infatuation with names. After all, her name was all she had. She had no friends living or dead – or family for that matter. She knew naught of who she was or how she got there. She knew her name, and only her name. It was the only thing, the only identity that she could cling on to. Oh, what joy and elation she felt when she repeated her name to herself, over, and over, and over again.

Names, names, names. They were a puzzle, it was a game. That’s all she ever thought about. She never left the graveyard. She never moved. She never spoke. She just stood there, staring, singing her silent song. It was as if she could see into the souls of those who were buried there, or even further. Her solemn expression never wavered; her unblinking eyes never shed a single tear. There was something about those eyes – something strange and mysterious, yet magical. Her right eye was a piercing blue, like the color found when gazing at the sun from beneath the ocean's crystalline surface. Every tendril of various shades of incandescent blue reflected the storm around her, as if a blizzard was raging inside of her. They defied the light, flickering like the pulse of a heartbeat magnified beyond all comparable words. Eyes so blue like fragmented crystals or cracked ice; shattered like a mirror almost to the extent that she saw the world through a shifted and unnatural gaze. Eyes that never showed emotion, but sparkled as if they held her deepest, darkest secret. But despite gleam in her eye, the girl’s expressions never wavered. She simply watched.

As the night faded away and the crisp air of morning flooded through the shadowy town, the girl slowly roused from her trance. She carefully traced her fingers along the inscriptions on the gravestones in one final farewell. Her fingers paused when she reached a small headstone that stood several feet from the others. Alice Mae DeVonne. Born April 13, 1984, Died August 13, 1999, it read. She tapped her long fingernails against the cold stone.

“Alice,” she whispered in a sing-songy voice. “Alice, Alice, Alice.” She smiled.

The clock tower struck 5am. Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! The sound echoed and reverberated through the allies of the town.

The girl walked over to the bench under the nearby willow tree and sat down. Shortly thereafter, a young man could be seen walking through the graveyard, a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. His name was Brooks, she knew – she knew the names of everyone in the town. Names, names, names. Everything was about names. It was her little game – and the townspeople were her chess pieces. Her mind was always full of names, but there was only one that she had ever dared utter. But when she saw this boy, something happened. She felt that there was something different about him – something special. She felt a connection. She marked her target. He was her new game piece; he was to be the king. She knew his name, and it was only a matter of time before she could lure him in. The girl stared as the boy passed by. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks. He looked so familiar. Her mind tried to form a memory, but she couldn’t grasp it. The voices were too loud. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks. She felt a jolt inside of her. She saw an asylum, a bridge, a boy. She was falling, falling, falling… then there was water – everywhere, all around her. She was gasping for breath. She was cold, so cold. There was a splash; the boy was next to her. He wanted to help, but she wouldn’t let him. He didn’t understand. Someone in the distance was yelling her name…

Her mind went blank, and there was nothing. But then the voices crept back – the voices that dictated her entire existence. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks. The girl looked up and saw the boy standing only ten feet away from her. He walked by her without noticing her, as everyone seemed to do in Ravenswood. As if she didn’t exist. She watched as he knelt in front of Alice DeVonne’s grave and carefully placed the flowers against the headstone. She smiled. He cared. His heart would be a good addition to her collection.

The boy straightened himself, brushed the soil off of his hands, and slowly walked away. She stared at him until he was only a speck in the distance, and then some. Something about him had stirred in her a thought about her past – a memory. This memory blossomed in her mind. It grew with unrestrainable speed, branching out into every nook and cranny and clouding every other thought she could fathom. She had no thoughts but for the boy and his warm, beating heart. For it was him whom she longed for with a passionate desire. All other matters and all different interests became absorbed in his single contemplation. He became the essence of her mental life. The idea of him thrived in her mind, threatening to swallow her entire existence. Her every thought was riveted on the boy. She had to touch him. She had to hold his heart in her hand. She had to taste him. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks. The name. Oh, the name! It tortured her, but she longed for more. The voices in her head screamed one monotonous chant. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks.

The girl never left the graveyard. Through the night, she stood by the willow tree. She never slept. She never moved. She just stood there – waiting, watching. She knew he would come.

And he did.

Through the morning mist, she saw a shadow drifting toward the gate. She knew it was him even before she saw his face. Brooks. He was finally going to be hers.

She walked toward him. A glint of moonlight reflected off the edge of a hidden silver sword. Her footsteps fell silent on the dewy grass. Her white nightgown fluttered behind her on an ominous wind. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks. She was right behind him. In one swift motion, she raised the dagger above her head. Moonlight radiated off the dagger. Brooks. She plunged the dagger into his back.

All was still. The voices in her head ceased their torment. The name was gone.

The girl stared down at the still form in front of her. Kneeling beside him, she brushed her pallid, spindly fingers through the boy’s hair that flopped down over his forehead. He was so delicate – so innocent looking. She placed her fingertips on his chest. She felt warmth. Life. That’s what she missed most. Everyone said that she had been mad from the day she was born to the day she died. She felt anger. She felt hatred. But she didn’t want to believe them – she couldn’t – for when she did so all hope would be lost. Then, uninvited, the name slowly crept back into the girl’s consciousness. Brooks, Brooks, Brooks. Her mind clouded. He wasn’t innocent. He was like all other humans – weak. He deserved death; he deserved to have everything he had ever loved stripped away from him. Alice plunged her hand into the boy’s chest and pulled.
And there, in the small of her hand, was his beating heart.

She stared at it. Its very essence captivated her. The very feeling of it in her hand filled her with an overwhelming joy that threatened to consume her entire being. She examined the small organ that fit perfectly into the palm of her hand. She watched as it rhythmically pulsed in and out. The subtle throb warmed her hand, spread up her arm, and engulfed her whole body. She no longer felt cold and empty. Her entire being pulsed with his heartbeat – she felt alive. The voices stopped; her mind was clear. And for the first time, she knew who she was.

But then, something happened. In the back of her brain, in the darkest corner of her mind, came a name. It was just a gentle whisper at first. But she heard it nonetheless. Then it grew. It grew into a wail, a terrifying sound that filled her body with horror and awe. The name, the name, the name! Her mind played it over and over in her head. She had found her next chess piece.

Squeezing her hand into a fist, she let the heart crumble into pieces. Beside her, the boy breathed his last. Opening her palm, she watched as the remnants blew away on the morning breeze.

The girl stood there for a couple of moments. Then she looked down at her small hands that were covered in blood. A tear slowly slid down her cheek. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to leave the graveyard, let go of her past, and be free. But in the still silence of the morning, there it was again, hammering in the back of her head. A name. Her eyes once again became expressionless. She couldn’t let go. She had become what everyone had called her – insane. In that still, quiet moment, she believed all the lies, all the rumors, all the gossip. She lost all hope. She had become the very monster that everyone had said she was. And there was no turning back.

She blinked, and her shining blue eye slowly clouded over with a deep grey mist.

Staring straight ahead, she lifted her hands and smeared the fresh blood onto the contours of her face.

“Alice,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Slowly and meticulously, she licked every one of her fingers.

“Alice.”