*clears throat and stands up nervously*

Hello, everybody! I'm Maria, but please feel free to call me Ree. It's a nickname that has stuck with me since I was a baby, when I just couldn't manage to properly pronounce my first name (rather, just the middle syllable of it).

I've been on Wattpad for about four years, but I'm sure many of you will be scratching your heads as to who I actually am.

I'm a poet, journalist, trailer maker (I actually made a trailer for this very Block Party!), graphics creator, former Wattpad Engagement Ambassador, and, ever so proudly, a Wattpad Featured Author.

I write dark, thrilling, romantic stories that aim to leave you melting thoroughly, chuckling heartily, sobbing relentlessly, and screaming at your screen in confounded disbelief. I put my characters through hell because I love them.

My stories aren't just books, but rather, they are breathing pieces of my heart and history. They are my soul, my passion, and my purpose. I'm sure many authors can empathize when I say, large pieces of me have been left in the paragraphs. We wait patiently for those pieces to be found, dusted off, and brought back to life by our incredible readers.

But... please excuse my tangents.

This is my first time being involved in the Wattpad Block Party (thank you SO much, Kelly)! I've wanted to be a part of this awesome event for so long now! So please pardon my overt excitement. This is kind of a big deal!

Since this is my first time being a part of the grandeur that is the Wattpad Block Party, I wanted to do something really special. What I'll be sharing with you all today, is the entire prequel to Arrows & Anchors (my most popular story on Wattpad).

If you're unfamiliar with A&A, please take a quick peek at the trailer for it below:

This post is a true introduction to my series, so you don't need to be a current reader of mine to follow along. Hopefully, though, it'll make your reading experience that much richer, if you do decide to carry on with the series! (Pretty, pretty please! You won't regret it! Read my "Fan Feedback" chapter at the beginning of A&A, if you need more persuasion! Or check out the Fan Feedback video--very first link at the top of my Wattpad bio!)

And if you're already a steady Brulian fan, I hope this will give you a brand new insight into Jules--who he is, who he was, and who he's always been. There are lots of new details in this prequel that I've never shared with any of you before. Thank you so much for sticking by me. This one's for you, Lost Girls and Lost Boys!

It's lengthy, so if you're a true lover of words, you're in for a treat!

Oh! And don't forget to check out the giveaway at the bottom of this post. One lucky reader is going to score a MYSTERY SWAG BAG with Arrows & Anchors related goodies! It's a secret bundle with hand-picked items from yours truly! And I'll ship to anywhere in the world. New readers, faithful readers, silent readers... everyone is welcome to enter, and I highly encourage you to do so! :)

And now, without further ado...

Flesh, Blood, and Stardust: An Arrows & Anchors Prelude/Prequel!

November 2004

Julian's POV

There was a nip in the air.

The sun had just begun to descend the autumn sky. I felt an icy bite on the tip of my reddened nose. Since I wore no jacket over my t-shirt (reading "I Am The Night"), even the hairs of my forearms stood on end.

Meteorological predictions were often iffy, and I rarely trusted them, but this time it was certain: temperatures were definitely dropping. It was noticeable enough for me to want to cut my break short—by four whole minutes—and head back into the shop.

So that was exactly what I did. With a growl in my stomach, and a shiver in my curled shoulders, I returned to duty.

The wind whistled whilst I moved through it, and I ached for a steaming hot cup of something or other. Without very much grace, I moved through the entrance door of my workplace, just below the bulb-less "P" in the "PAWN" sign overhead.

To the right of the room stood the shop owner—my first and only boss—Patrick. His eyes remained downcast at the display case. He scribbled away messily and grunted in mild frustration about something.

Anytime my boss was in an extra sour mood, I put it down to the horse races, as he had a bit of a betting problem. But Patrick didn't seem too upset at the moment, and, thankfully, I had but three hours left with him that evening anyhow.

Not to be taken incorrectly—the lad wasn't half bad; he just expected an awful lot of me. And despite my lack of fear for hard labour, at seventeen years old, Patrick knew I was as dispensable as they came. (Right, don't tell anybody, but... truthfully... my boss believed me to be nearly twenty. But what difference did a year or two make? I was still expendable to him.)

I knew of my dispensability just as well. My resume was rather... bland. I had no previous jobs. And regardless of my tenure at a religiously-institutionalised public school and orphanage, I hadn't even any GCSE marks about which I could brag. The best part of my schooling experience, thus far, was running away from it. Literally.

Yep... I was a drop-out. But not in the way you might think...

See, my old school was called the Lambeth Home, except for the fact that it was no home at all. Especially not after the questionable disappearance of my best mate, Ollie. He was the only reason I had, to not make a run for it sooner. But when he never returned to the boys' common bedroom one night, the rumours started flying about.

"The South Chamber," they'd said. Their hushed whispers substantiated what I'd already been dreading. Ollie and I used to steal leftovers from the staff kitchen by night. Usually, we'd nick a loaf of bread or two, and, once caught, we never were spared an ounce of sympathy.

The staff already disliked us... me more than Ollie, but my best mate was always guilty by association. Just the thought of this truth was enough to speed my heart rate.

Where had Ollie gone to? Had he already escaped on his own? We had often discussed the possibility of escaping together, but maybe he had no time to find me first. We'd likewise made a pact to make a run for it, alone if necessary, if we ever got the chance. Had Ollie gotten his?

Or maybe it was something else entirely. Had he been removed to another home? Another wing of the orphanage? Had he really been to the South Chamber? And if he had, was he horribly injured and moved to hospital?

As the night hours crept by, I began to suspect the absolute worst... that perhaps I'd never see Ollie again. Or if I did, somehow, he wouldn't be the same lad I knew and loved. When it came to inflicting permanent damage, I'd have put nothing past Matron Wendy and her legion of abusers.

It seemed that they existed solely to harm the Numbers. I was proof of this myself.

Ollie wouldn't have been the first loveless Number to disappear. I could only hope that he wasn't too gravely hurt, and, if he'd been moved to hospital, or to another location, maybe fate would lead us along the same path, to meet again one day. Maybe when we were fully grown.

Did Lost Boys ever actually grow up? In stature only, I believed.

Nonetheless, the sweeping realisation overcame me, that I was truly all alone. Alone in a place full of people who hated my guts, to put it mildly. They'd taken him, and I had to be next.

Why this day, of all days? They'd done this to weaken me, I became sure of it. To break me, as they'd always wished to. Worst of all, Ollie could have been harmed in my name, as some sort of pawn. And this stung worse than any previous, physical lacerations.

I grew absolutely paranoid in my own ruminations. Lost in my own worried mind. And worried minds were wicked places to be.

Without Ollie, I had absolutely no reason to remain in the trenches of the Lambeth Home. There, I was simply a hen in a lion's den.

No... it couldn't be. I had to begin looking after myself—there was nobody else around to do it for me. This had never been more blatantly apparent to me.

What were they planning?

I'd been scarred already, but something even more irrevocably awful could have happened at any moment, without Ollie around to be my second pair of eyes and ears. The headmaster and matrons had stripped me of my best mate, and, as such, my best and only defense. The only surefire way to safety, was to get as far away as possible.

Far, far away from Lambeth, and away from the place that never was a home to any of those poor souls forced to reside within its quarters.

We hadn't heard of any successful attempts before. Despite this, I wanted to try it for myself: the great escape. What better day to try it, I thought, than my sixteenth birthday? Some birthday boy luck might've even been on my side.

Just past five in the morning was when I made my choice. I'd been waiting all night for Ollie to return, and he still hadn't. I decided it was time.

To my knowledge, I was the only one awake in the boys' common bedroom. My bed was by the far window. Beside that window, I'd spent countless nights looking to the stars. Contemplating.

I considered breaking the glass and jumping through, but it would've woken everyone around me. Not that I cared about the restfulness of the bellends around me, but I needed to be a bit more inconspicuous. At least for now.

Though, there might've been a second option, just beneath my nose.

Headmaster wouldn't arrive until seven, or half past six at best. And Miss Helen seemed to be the only one on night staff duty--patrolling the halls and looking inside the rooms for any signs of mischief. Normally, Matron Wendy and Miss Edith would have been 'round as well. I hadn't seen the latter two all night.

I spotted my chance.

As quietly as I could, I sat up, then stood to my feet. By the room's far corner was a lamp. I unscrewed its bulb, and placed it into the pocket of my uniform trousers. I hadn't been allowed pyjamas like the others.

I tiptoed to the bedroom door, opening it with a creak. Miss Helen was down the corridor, but immediately started walking back toward me. The clicking of her heels grew louder as she approached. I closed the bedroom door behind me, as to not disturb the other numpties.

I held back a smile to see she was truly alone.

"Miss Helen, I need to visit the lavatory."

"Ask properly," she snapped.

Delightful, wasn't she? The old witch.

"Miss Helen, may I please have your permission to visit the lavatory?" I amended, trying not to grit my teeth.

She gave me a look of disgust. "Quickly."

"Yes, Miss," I said, whilst beginning to move.

In my head, I hummed lyrics, to keep my nervous feet in a steady rhythm.

Steady. Steady now.

I could feel her wrinkled eyes upon my back until I turned the corner. Instead of rushing to the boys' toilets, however, I dipped into the cleaners' storeroom--just beside the loos. Ironic, wasn't it, that the cleaners' room needed a good tidying?

Breaths came heavily from my body as I reached for the small lightbulb in my pocket.

Gripping the bulb tightly, I reached my hand out of the broom cupboard and threw the bulb to the floor--as far to the left as I possibly could--with a rough, echoing, crashing of glass. Frantically, I pulled the door back toward me, leaving it open just a hair. Just enough to be able to see the silhouette of her, passing by in a rush.

Blood pulsed heavily within me, thickening my veins, as I heard Helen's shoes clicking louder, closer. Her feet like hellfire. When I heard her calling my number angrily from inside the boys' toilets, I ran.

I ran and ran down the long corridor, down the creaking stairs, and all the way to the main entrance doors of the orphanage. I was sure I'd never run so quickly in my life.

A black, morning sky greeted me as I threw the doors wide open. I made my silent birthday wish to the sky overhead--full of flickering stars--and leapt forward.

Give me safety, give me freedom.

I never paused for a moment... not even as the security alarms began to blare. I felt the vibrations of them in my ribcage. They seemed to grow even louder, as I got further away.

The grass was damp as I raced across it. I never looked back--not even once. The air was freezing, my lungs ached, and I was shaking.

A frigid wind parted my hair, whilst I ripped the identification necklace from 'round my neck. With a burning hatred, I threw it to the ground, leaving it where it lay.

"Ollie, I'm sorry," said I to myself.

And everyone else at Lambeth? To hell with them all.

Burn. Burn in bloody hell.

I nearly slipped on the wet ground as I rushed across it, barely making it to the furthest edges of the massive yard. An iron fence awaited me there, which I scaled--trembling thighs and all--before making it to the safety of the wooded area beyond.

The furious beating of my heart wouldn't slow.

My silent birthday wish to the sky had been granted--somehow, I'd pulled it off. With alarms screaming mightily behind me, I'd officially made it past the property lines of the orphanage, tasting liberty for the very first time in my life.

Still, comfort evaded me. Electricity ripped through my limbs, urging me ahead.

I didn't believe it was quite over... but, I hadn't yet been stopped. I hadn't yet been found. Time was precious.

I couldn't allow myself to roar a celebratory cry of relief. Instead, I celebrated by running harder, for every centimetre between myself and the hellhole meant a better chance at survival.

Through wooded areas, empty parks, dim footpaths, and sleepy streets, I sprinted with lightning in my toes. My surroundings became more foreign, and I'd decided this was a good thing. A very good thing, indeed.

As the miles were treaded beneath my feet, and the sky lightened infinitesimally, I'd realised at last: I made it. My throat was dry, as was my tongue, and my lips were numb. But I'd made it. I was out.

I couldn't even credit myself for everything having gone right. It really felt like heaven was looking out for me, leading me along. Sounds mad, I know.

No doubt, I'd caught a massive break. Still, I was starting out with absolutely nothing. Just the clothes on my back... an itchy uniform, at that. And in that black uniform, I ran for miles and miles, not knowing what exactly I was searching for, but feeling the need to get further and further away. The further away, of course, the better.

I couldn't rid myself of this sensation of being... guided... in a way. So I kept moving... looking for my rainbow, and maybe even the pot of gold at its furthest edge.

I'd never found a rainbow for myself before, but maybe there was a first time for everything. After all, what better day was there, to be feeling rather opportunistic? Lest we forget, I'd already been granted one giant wish.

So, after escaping from the Lambeth Home, without two pence to my name, I was ever so pleased to have found any stroke of luck, in the form of income. What were the chances that I'd stumbled upon Patrick's pawn shop, just as my legs grew far too weary to carry on?

To me, this was just more proof of my strongly-held belief: in life, there were no coincidences.

After running to the point of near collapse, whilst watching the sun ascend a sleepy sky, good fortune had found me again. And me? I found my pot of gold--an overturned, long abandoned, unopened fizzy drink by the footpath. If you're wondering whether I actually drank it, you're too bloody right I did.

My throat had never burnt so beautifully, as the lukewarm liquid moved past it.

And even better than the discarded, carbonated beverage, was the handwritten "Help Wanted" sign in the window of the shop across the way.

There really was no question about it. Upon me, fate truly smiled that day.

After gathering myself for a bit, I walked right in, and asked for work. I spoke with a false confidence. The man behind the cash register stared at me for a moment, making no mention of my all-black uniform. Since the surrounding area was really quite grimy, perhaps the somewhat posh-looking uniform even helped me a bit, at the time.

It was still a shot in the dark, and I made my request without expectation. To my surprise and glee, Patrick agreed to an extra pair of hands around the shop. I felt as though I'd just won the lottery.

The position was offered to me on one perfect condition: he'd pay me in cash—free of taxes—under the table. This was a rather ideal scenario for me, seeing as I was petrified of giving my full and legal name, Julian Riley Miles, just in case the Lambeth staff or police ever came 'round to look for me.

Nearly two years had passed already, and nobody had found me yet. I just had to make it to the twentieth of February, and I'd be legally free to live as... Julian... without fear of being recaptured and sent back to the hellhole on the hill. But, for the time being, I wasn't Julian. No. I was just a liar and a fraud.

Quite fortunately, Patrick never questioned my name ("Riley"), nor my age at the time ("18"). It was a solace for me to remember that, in a few months' time, the latter lie would at least become a truth. And the first lie was at least partially true—my middle name was still a part of my name, wasn't it? Middle names were always underrated...

Patrick, however, never really pushed for detailed information about my private life. It was all work, all the time. No meaningless chinwagging. I liked this about him. And I desperately needed it to be this way. This way exactly.

I knew Patrick was born in Leicester, and his family had Irish roots. Beyond this, though, I knew very little.

Our conversations were usually limited to a few sparse sentences throughout the day, and the rest of that space was filled by enticing sounds of an old rock-and-roll radio station.