Mable’s Moorland Reckoning Mable tugged her grey cloak tighter, the mist of the moorlands curling around her boots like ghostly fingers. At sixteen, she’d outgrown the small cottage—its thatched roof sagging, its walls pressing in like a smothering hug. Her family meant well, but their simple life choked her. She craved more than milking goats and mending socks. She wanted the world.
That morning, she’d snapped. Her mother’s voice—“Stay safe, stay home”—echoed as Mable grabbed her leather vest and stormed out. The moor stretched before her, a grey-green sea of heather and secrets. Her braids, knotted tight, bounced as she marched, her wiry frame buzzing with defiance. She wasn’t some fragile child; she’d prove it.
The wind howled, carrying whispers of something ancient. Mable’s rosy lips parted as she hummed a tune—wild, untamed. Her narrow face tilted up, dark eyes scanning the fog. She’d heard tales of the Digital Garden, a realm beyond the veil, where tech and magic danced. It called to her restless soul.
Then, a glint—metal in the muck. She knelt, brushing dirt from a Graphics Cube, its edges humming. It shifted in her palm, becoming a dagger, then a bird, then back. Her heart raced; this was no moorland trinket. It felt alive. Overstimulated, her mind whirred—danger or destiny? She chose the latter.
Footsteps crunched behind her. A figure loomed—tall, cloaked, gone in a blink. Mable’s low pain tolerance made her flinch, but her will to survive kicked in. She clutched the cube and ran, the mist parting to reveal a shimmering rift. Beyond it, a glade pulsed with light—Grove Edge. Her sister Willow waited there, a Digital Artificer on a quest. Mable grinned. She’d found her escape.
Stepping through, she left the cottage behind, ready for the Garden’s chaos—and her own. She stumbles apon the Church of Sincroidism, a vr wonderland where she feels like home. Current town is Sincordia where the Church of Sincroidism is life.