Hi, this is my first attempt at writing a Teen Titans story. It could be quite interesting, seeing as I've only ever seen one episode of the show ("Date With Destiny", to be exact), but I happened to have fallen in love with it enough to want to write something about it. I've tried to read pretty much everything Teen Titans related on this form and the World's Finest site in general, so I hope I know enough to be getting on with, but if I happen to get any facts wrong, mixed-up or just plain contradicted then please let me know. Either way, have a read of the prologue and tell me what you think. (Note: I offer my humble apologies to whoever wrote the story about Raven & Luke, as it may seem like I've nicked their idea, but it's genuinely pure coincidence!) (Other Note: There's a small game being played here with the name of the story and the chapters. Whoever figures it out first may have to get some sort of prize...) Anyway, without further ado, I offer you the start of my (hopefully) epic work, Dwyr Budr... Prologue: Forever It’s a wonderful day. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the cooling breeze is just cooling enough to be effective without being annoying. The mountains might be in summer rather than in snow, but the view over the Mediterranean plains is still jaw dropping, and the church on top of the highest mountain is the kind of small white brick building that is pretty enough to complement the view rather than compete with it. The church and the grounds surrounding it are a little on the run-down side, but in the strange way that is unique to this region this only adds to the prettiness. Anyway, the current visitor to this little-known monument wouldn’t have it any other way. Watch her drive up the narrow, rocky mountain track in her open-top rented Porsche, sending stones flying in the kind of devil-may-care manner that suggests that she’s actually got a lot on her mind. Watch her pull up the church, careful not to let any dust get kicked up onto its pretty façade. Watch her get out of the car, sporting the straw hat, silk scarf and satin summer dress typical of any wannabe Continental touriste. Watch her ditch the hat and scarf on the back seat and put on a purple cloak that she’s taken out of the boot with an almost disturbing reverence. Watch her walk round the side of the church into the overgrown cemetery, stopping at a modest gravestone overlooking the valley. Watch her clean the gravestone and the area around it with a lover’s caress. Watch her sit down on the grass, facing the gravestone, and take a pack of cards out her pocket. Watch her play a card game so utterly incomprehensible that she had to have been taught it at some point long ago. Pilgrimage isn’t quite the right word, but it’s the first one that springs to mind. This middle-aged woman finishes playing her card game, and places the pack on a spot of grass in front of the gravestone, a spot of grass that has a few bits of soggy cardboard lying on it, one piece looking remarkably like a red diamond. This woman then does something that she doesn’t tend to do often: in fact, she only ever seems to do it when she comes here each year. It may seem like a strange thing to do, but, when considering the circumstances, it’s actually quite fitting. She cries her poor little heart out.