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Isabella's Feathery Nest of Dreams
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Cold iron chains rattled forlornly against colder stone, and the weak torches ensconced just beyond the bars of the cell flickered before the frigid breath of wind swirling in from the single, high-set window too small for even a child to crawl through.
My first thought, strangely enough, was not a query as to why I was in prison. Rather, it was a simple, silent remark that winter had come.
I lay on my back on the course linen bed provided for me and all the prisoners who had used this cell before me, my fingers tracing the branding of a criminal—I knew not what crime it told of—on the inside of my wrist.
Perhaps it was strange how I couldn’t remember a thing from my life before that first moment, but when one knows nothing, it is hard to realize that this is not normal. When you know naught but that you are in a room you recognize by instinct as a prison cell, feeling a deep scar you know to be a sign of your past though you cannot understand it, you don’t think that others, perhaps, might not be quite so ignorant of their own histories. All you think is, This air has the taste of winter. At least, thus is my experience. If you believe me in the wrong, then that is your own tale to tell.
My tale, however, begins with such a scenario, and I assure you, whatever else I may do, I will always speak to you the full and honest truth. For who else could you receive the real story from, if not from me?
But I digress.
I was, as I have said, lying on my rough bed, when I heard the heavy clanking of armored guards approaching. A cascade of cooking pots and tea kettles tumbling onto hard stone would make less sound, I reflected without a wonder in the world why the soldiers were there. Mine was a very calm mind, though I, again, did not know this to be unusual. For all I knew, I was as skittish as a hare compared to the rest of my kind. I was not.
My gaze strayed toward the bars of my cell, not because I expected to see the procession, but because I had nothing else to look at in the dull stone hole they’d left me in. To my credit or fault, I know not which, the steady rhythm of my breathing did not break, nor did my eyes widen when I saw three men in steel and leather following a woman swathed in a crêpe cape of royal red standing just beyond the iron rods that formed the fourth wall of my cage.
Two of the men glanced at me, but their eyes beneath their winged helms bore no interest, and they turned away. One of the two who’d looked into my cell tugged on a rope he held, and a fifth stranger entered my vision, clothed in the same patchwork rags as me and every other soul trapped down in the cold dungeon.
The other prisoner was placed in the cell across the narrow hall from mine, and then the four guards departed, leaving only the crackling of torches and distant sobbing of other convicts in their wake.
For some time the man across from me simply stood with his dark fingers around the bars holding him in, but eventually he took what few steps he could across his new home and lay on his own rugged bed. Most of this I heard only, for I had returned my focus to the ceiling above me even before the guards had departed. Though I could not fathom why, I had the sudden sense that the new prisoner would not long survive.
Perhaps hours passed in silence, the piteous noises from elsewhere in the dungeon dying down once we condemned were alone again while the torches burned their last embers and left both darkness and quiet behind.
It was such a purposeless existence, I found myself thinking. Why didn’t they just end it—end our lives? Death would be more merciful than being imprisoned in musty clefts cut from the earth as we were.
Heaving a long, deep sigh, I shut my eyes to my small grey world and slept.


Prologue:
Hero’s Fall
Cold, sharp pain stabbed my side a moment after the steel slid between my ribs. My eyes opened by reflex, and my hands reached up to tear the weapon out. Then I saw my attacker. His face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, but I could have recognized him anywhere. I had spent nearly every day of the last few months at his side, training, fighting, laughing. Shock momentarily numbed the pain, then anger, terrible, burning anger seared my heart. I tried to shove myself away, but my hands remained draped limply over his, all feeling drained from them. I couldn’t move. I could just watch, tears streaking my face as he gently withdrew his weapon from my side.
“My lady,” he whispered, his soft voice sad but not surprised. He’d known it was me. . . this was no accident, no mistake. He had wanted to kill me. I dimly felt myself shudder as he lowered me to the ground, cradling me like I was something precious to him. I had once thought I was. I realized distantly that I was no longer breathing, and everything looked like I was watching it through a fog. Unable to accept what it might mean, I closed my eyes, just as I heard him say, “I’m sorry.”
“Sandra!” I woke out of my trance as Rachel shook my arm. I blinked, shook my head, and stared in amazement at the robotic fortune-telling machine in front of me, the fake fortune teller giving me an even faker smile before I let Rachel pull me away. Rachel and I had dropped by our favorite arcade after school, and had both been having great fun until I’d had that. . . dream? Hallucination? I shook my head again, wondering what had just happened, when Rachel stopped in front of another machine. The writing across the top was so old and faded I couldn’t read it, so I looked down inside the glass instead. There were little trinkets lined up along a copper wheel.
“Oh, look at that key chain!” Rachel exclaimed, pointing to a crystal flower. In the center was what looked like a dark, glittering sapphire. Rachel’s birth stone. She grinned at me, then dropped a coin into the slot and started working the controls. I smiled weakly back, but my enthusiasm had faded. I looked back at the fortune machine, shook my head, and tapped my friend’s shoulder lightly.
“Rachel, I, uh, have to go pick up my brother, okay?” I told her. She glanced up, surprised.
“Oh. Okay. Later, then?”
“Yeah, later.” Zipping up my coat, I hurried out of the arcade. I winced as a blast of icy wind hit me, and walked briskly down the sidewalk wondering what I’d just seen.

Is there anything you think I should change?

Don't start with a flashback or a dream or a memory. Because this flashback/dream/memory is going to have to end, and your reader will want to know what happens next, and she/he will probably forget about it by the time you mention it again.
You can completely disregard this.


Chapter 1:
First Snow
It was cold outside. I could just see the snow falling beyond my frosted window, and it didn’t do anything to lighten my mood. It was the first snow of the year, and already there was a foot of snow coating the ground.
Sitting with my head cocked to the side to press the phone between my ear and shoulder, I looked back down at my pale blue toenails. Narrowing my eyes in concentration, I started carefully drawing silver roses over the polish on my big toes.
“Rachel called and said she’s sick,” Katherine informed me sadly over the phone. “And my truck is still at the mechanic’s.”
I sighed, glancing at the window again as I listened. It was like this every winter. Someone would get a cold and somehow ruin whatever outing my friends and I had been planning, and someone else would be unable to take their place. This time Rachel had been needed to drive a handful of us to the school dance on Friday. I narrowed my eyes, considering. My car was too small to pack all my friends into, but maybe Natalya or Bryan. . . The Bakers’ truck should have enough room for everyone.
“That’s alright,” I assured Katherine, finishing the second wing. I screwed the nail polish closed and leaned back, examining my work. “Natalya can take us.”
“Really? That would be great!” Katherine exclaimed. Smiling, I checked my watch, the golden hands glittering around the pale blue topaz beneath. I still had more than enough time.
“I’ll go talk to them later, make sure their truck is still working,” I said.
“Sounds good,” she said, sounding relieved.
“Cassandra!”
I frowned as I heard my mother call me from downstairs.
“I have to go, Kate,” I told Katherine. “See you soon?” After I heard Katherine’s affirmation, I hung up and slipped my cell phone into my pocket. Careful not to damage my still-drying toenails, I turned and marched out of my room. Taking a sharp left and following the curving staircase out of habit more than by command, I almost tripped over one of my family’s many cats, sprawled across the rug at the bottom of the stairs. Laughing, I bent down to stroke the cat’s sleek brown head, then straightened and looked around. As I expected, I could hear my mother beating eggs in the kitchen, but no one was in the dimly lit living room with me. I walked into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame, watching my mother pour her egg mixture into a new bowl and reach for the flour.
My mother was short and slight of build, like me. She had her wavy blonde hair piled atop her head, and her blue eyes sparkled cheerfully as she saw me. She also loved cooking—which was the reason that our entire house forever smelled like freshly baked bread, cinnamon, or whatever else she took a liking to.
“Hi, dear. Angelica is on the phone.” Without further explanation, she pointed to the polished white phone in the wall, then returned to her cooking.
Thanking her, I grabbed the phone and said, “Hello?”
“Hey, Sandra. It’s Angelica.”
I smiled at hearing my best friend’s voice.
“Um. . . I know we were planning to clean out the attic on Friday,” she began, “but there’s a lot of junk up there—more than I thought. I don’t think we’ll have time to do it before the dance. . . Could you maybe come over tomorrow instead?”
“Hmm. . .” I tapped my lip thoughtfully, running my schedule through my brain. If I go to her house right after fencing class, we should be able to do it with time to spare. “Yeah, I can go over after school,” I replied. “Would that be okay?”
“That’d be great!” Angelica exclaimed. “See you at school?”
I laughed, glancing over at my mother. “Definitely.” I hung up the phone, waved to Mom, and headed back upstairs to wait for my nails to dry.

I glanced around as I walked, noting that I was the only person in sight. In spring and summer and even in the fall, people would always be relaxing in the sunshine, playing games in the yards, laughing as they raked leaves into piles, sometimes to be dropped into a trash bin, other times to be leapt into by giggling children.
Currently, although there was more than enough snow to be either cleaning up or having fun with, no snowmen marked those barren yards, no children played in the generous drifts of snow, no cheerful greetings drifted across the crisp air. Even the vivid colors of the cars and houses lining the streets seemed washed-out in the pale winter season.
I couldn’t help but feel saddened by the lack of excitement, the absence of noise other than the soft crunching of snow beneath my feet. I didn’t even have to wait for a pack of cars to pass before crossing the frosty streets on my way, though I kept looking around, hoping to see one. Winter always had this effect on me. Cold, quiet, and lifeless, I couldn’t think of any purpose for it, other than to upset me and others like me.
“You look like someone killed your best friend,” commented a friendly voice, and I jumped, turning to face the speaker. Leaning nonchalantly against a stop sign, dressed in unassuming grey and white that hadn’t drawn my attention, was Nathan Shepards. He was my cousin, as well as Natalya’s boyfriend, and though he had graduated from high-school, I still saw him frequently. Grey-eyed, black-haired, and pale-skinned since his tan had faded, he looked as bland as everything else, and I was suddenly very grateful for my brown hair and eyes, though my skin was just as light as his—possibly more so. I grimaced at the thought.
“No,” I replied. “I just lost her in an endless world of snow—and ice.”
“Come on,” Nathan chided me easily. “Winter is okay.”
I sighed, shaking my head, and jerked my thumb at the path I’d been following. “Were you going to see Natalya?” I asked him.
Nathan nodded, joining me as I resumed my weary march.
“So, what’s okay about it?” I inquired, kicking aside a few cracked pieces of a fallen icicle.
“That depends on what you like about it,” Nathan responded.
I threw him a glare. “What is that even supposed to mean? What if I don’t like anything about it?”
“You do like something about it.” He paused, considering, then said, “You enjoy seeing greenery start to return.”
“That means I like spring,” I argued. “It has nothing to do with winter.”
“Ah, but you wouldn’t enjoy spring nearly as much if it was always spring, would you?” He had a point there, I conceded, but it didn’t make me any more inclined to stop wishing it was spring at that moment.
“Whatever you say,” I sighed, readjusting my scarf as a sharp gust of wind bit into the sensitive skin of my neck.
He allowed a silence to follow my words, since I had to focus more on the slippery path than our conversation. He didn’t seem to be having any difficulty, but I was less fitted to trekking through the snow considering my diminutive size and hatred of the stuff.
After a few more minutes, we arrived at the cement path leading up to the elegant victorian-style mansion the Bakers called home. The slanted roof rose high into the sky, shadowing the cobbled path that twisted across the field of glittering white snow and winter-bare trees. I loved looking at the place in spring, when the air smelled like lillac and everything was green and healthy, but just then it was as bland as unflavored yogurt.
The air was utterly silent, and Nathan and I followed the path without a word, as if our voices would break some spell that gripped the barren yard. When we reached the house, I pressed the small white button next to the door and waited for a response.
After a few seconds I heard the familiar sound of chains rattling as someone unlocked the door, and when the old wooden barrier finally opened with a low groan, I saw Natalya standing in front of me.
She wore her usual ensamble of black leather and iron chains, and her sleek black hair was cut short as always over her left ear while the right side of her face was hidden by a wave of much longer hair. Though she could have passed for a decent amazon for a movie with her musclular body and proud posture, she smiled brightly when she saw us, ruining the effect.
“Cassandra, Nathan,” she greeted us, stepping back with a beckoning gesture.
I gratefully walked forward into the warmth of the mansion, and shed my coat and scarf, hanging them on a hat rack beside Nathan’s gear.
Then I looked around the familar living room, from the spotless white floor to the matching ceiling, far above and glittering with crystalline chandeliers. Rich and creamy leather seats surrounded a cozy fireplace on the opposite wall; a massive beige rug matted the floor under my feet; a long table covered the length the wall to my left, adorned by statues and pictures of fantasy creatures like gryphons and phoenixes; and doors of honey-colored wood led into different parts of the house. Everything added to the grand and airy effect of the white room, seeming warm rather than pale, sugar rather than snow.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Natalya asked us, a slight tease in her voice to take the oddity from her words.
I glanced at Nathan to see if he wanted to say something, but he waved a hand for me to speak first, so I explained, “Rachel’s not going ot be able to drive us to the dance on Friday, and the rest of us are stranded. Could you and Bryan pick us up instead?”
“You’ve got it, girl,” she agreed easily, bracing one hip against the back of a chair and folding her arms. “Your miracle ride will arrive on time.”
“Great, thanks,” I said earnestly. “Kate’s going to be thrilled.”
“Speaking of the dance, I believe Bryan’s been trying to work up the courage to ask your beautiful self to go with him,” Natalya informed me with a playful grin. “Do you want to take mercy on him and talk to him about it?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind.” I matched her smile and waved at both her and my cousin. “See you, then.”
I headed up to the second floor, at home in the Bakers’ house as much as in my own, and rapped my knuckles on the doorframe of Bryan’s bedroom as I paused on the threshold.
Bryan, much like his sister in appearance with dark hair, olive-green eyes, and golden skin, glanced up from the book he was reading when he heard me. He was lounging on a worn velvet sofa in one corner of the room, a stack of at least twenty other books balancing precariously on the antique french coffee table beside him.
“Good morning,” he said in welcome, raising one eyebrow in an unspoken question.
I pretended to glance at my watch. “Indeed it is,” I responded, skirting around the edge of the coffee table and sitting beside him on the couch. Rather than starting up a conversation, I picked up the top book from the stack and looked at the title. “A history-fantasy mix, as usual,” I remarked after reading the premise. “Predictable, but promising. Is it any good?”
“I find the ‘honorable’ order of knights to be clueless brigands and the tyranical king to be the wisest man in the land, but other than that. . .” He trailed off with a shrug and tossed the book he’d been reading when I came in on the table beside the others. “It isn’t utterly terrible.”
“Hmm.” I carefully replaced my find and leaned back. “I hear you have something to tell me.”
“Do I?” he drawled, his strange accent showing through as he stretched like a cat and looked at me through his dark eyelashes.
“Something about a dance?” I suggested, resisting a smile.
“Ah, yes,” he said, shifting closer and laying his hand over mine on the sofa. “The dance. Might I have the honor of your company this Friday night, my lovely?”
“You just might,” I replied, letting my smile peek through. I was used to the slightly strange way he talked, as if he’d picked up some phrases from the books he loved reading. With a pointed look at the multiple boxes of playing cards on the table with the books, I added, “Assuming you show me another one of your magic tricks.”
Bryan chuckled and shook his head. “Always playing hard to get, aren’t you, sweet lady?” he asked, waving a deck of cards I hadn’t noticed him holding in front of my face. “Which one shall it be, then, to be exchanged for a night with you? I don’t believe I have one magnificent enough to make it a fair deal.”
“Just show me a trick,” I laughed, batting his hand away.
“As you wish,” he assented with a smile. He spread out the deck in his hand, showing me that the cards were scrambled. “Watch carefully,” he murmured, flipping the deck once and then cutting it in the center. I stared intently at his hands as he did so, unable to help my fascination, and when he again spread out the cards, I could only gaze in shock at the numbers, now in perfect order.
“How did you do that?” I demanded, snatching the cards away from him and rifling through them. It was a perfectly average deck, still slick and white, hardly used.
“How do you think?” he asked, leaning closer and retrieving his cards. His eyes bright and mischievous, he said, “Magic.”

Treasure in the Dust
Anerval ran a pale finger along the edge of his blade, wiping away the thin line of blood spanning its length. Rain fell in sheets from the dark sky, washing clean his hand within moments. Whuelen fell to his knees before him, one armored hand pressed against his side to stem the flow of his own blood. The clawed gauntlet Whuelen wore flashed with water in the moonlight, making Anerval wince and narrow his eyes, but he just flicked his wrist to press the tip of his sword against Whuelen’s throat.
Whuelen’s eyes, so startlingly gold in his fair face, calmly met Anerval’s, and Anerval sensed the question behind his cool gaze. Was this it? Would this be the time Anerval finally decided to drive his blade forward another inch, and thus rid the world of another potential enemy?
Not for the first time, Anerval considered it, and imagined how this one action could easily turn his dreams into reality. When Whuelen’s king discovered that he had been killed in the human lands, war would be inevitable. The great Alliance would fall apart, and Anerval would reunite them under a new rule. . . It would happen now whether or not the elf kneeling before him died, though, and it would be better to have an ally when the Alliance crumbled. Nothing lasted forever.
Smiling down at Whuelen, Anerval lowered his blade and held out his hand to him. No. Not today. As much as he hated to admit it even to himself, the elf was his friend. If there was another way, he would find it. If not. . . “Shall we continue?” Anerval asked of the elf, easily pulling him to his feet and stepping back into a ready posture in one fluid movement. Whuelen, his eyes of molten gold hardening, nodded and slipped into his own stance.
For a full year they had played this game, knowing that one day their skills would be needed to restore this land they loved. But not today. At least for this one night, the peace was stable.
Lightning flashed high in the clouds, and Anerval leapt forward to thrust his blade through Whuelen’s heart.
I grunted, struggling to lower the massive box from its shelf without dropping it on my head, knocking anything else off the shelf, or doing both. “What the heck is in here?” I demanded. “A TV?”
After I’d wrung every trick he knew out of Bryan, whether or not I’d seen them before, he’d walked me home, and I had gone upstairs and halfheartedly picked up one of my books. A few minutes later, when I'd gotten thoroughly sick of the second main character, I had just snapped the book shut and chatted with Angelica on the phone until I finally went to bed. She’d seemed ecstatic to hear that the Bakers were taking us all to the dance, and had been more than ready to talk for a few hours, though we were going to see each other the next day anyway. I was pretty pleased with the way things had turned out, and I was also in a light mood, despite the snowstorm outside.
Angelica giggled at my words. “You’re close. It’s actually my brother’s old computer. . . maybe his monitor,” she told me, hefting a smaller box and showing it to me. “These are his really old keyboards and mice—er, mouses. Is it mice or mouses? It seems wrong calling them mice, but mouses is just stupid sounding. Hmm.” Shrugging, she laid the box on top of the one I had managed to pull down and balance on a nearby desk instead.
Angelica started sorting through a pile of old sweaters. She flapped them to get the dust off so she could see their real colors, and sent a cloud of it billowing towards me. I turned my face away, half-shutting my eyes to prevent the dust from getting in them.
“What do you think of this?” she asked me, holding up a green sweater that matched her eyes. “It was my Mom’s when she was my age. Most of the stuff up here was. . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked around.
“I’m sure your Mom would love to see you in it,” I replied with a smile.
Angelica beamed and started fishing through the clothes again; almost all of them were green, I saw. As far as I knew, every member of Angelica’s family adored green. Which explained the green house, green car, green wall paper, green clothes. . . It was the same in my room, only with blue rather than green. The rest of my family had different ideas on the best color: my mother loved yellow; my father liked brown; and my sister, Jasmine, was obsessed with lavender.
“Do you want to drop by the mall after we’re done here?” Angelica suggested, fingering a moth hole in another green sweater. “Heather and I are going to pick out some dresses for the dance. It’s short notice, but I wasn’t sure I could go with this weather.”
“How are you planning to get to the mall?” I wondered aloud, readjusting the computer box with a grunt and thinking that laptops were an amazing invention.
“Natalya’s driving us,” Angelica explained, digging a blue sweater out of the pile and tossing it at me.
“Ah. I think I'll stay home this time; I have something I need to do later,” I explained, catching the sweater and feeling the soft material. I was referring to the new book I was reading, which was well on its way to being one of the best I’d ever read—despite the main character’s annoying best friend. I wanted to get back to it. . . the best friend had, of course, just betrayed the main character when I’d had to leave for school earlier.
I set the sweater aside and turned back to Angelica, but she seemed engrossed in a book of her own she had found under one of the sweaters, so I looked around the room instead. A tall mirror stood nearby, dusted off, so I assumed Angelica wanted to keep it. Not having anything else to do—Angelica had asked me to take down the computer box, but hadn’t yet told me what to do with it—I looked at my reflection.
Like my mother, I was small, almost exactly five feet tall and slight of build; my face looked youthful, even for a seventeen-year-old; my brown hair fell to my waist like a wave of melted chocolate; and my clothes were, as always, blue. I wasn’t one of those heroines in a book who thinks she’s mundane when she’s actually gorgeous; I knew I was considered beautiful by most people who saw me. I just didn’t usually wear much makeup or jewelry to enhance that beauty.
Tucking my hair behind my ears to get it out of my way, I continued to scan the room. I arched my neck to see over a treadmill hidden under a grey sheet. I wondered for a moment if it was really grey or if it was just dusty like everything else, but my attention was diverted by a faint gold light behind it.
Does something up here still work? I wondered. It’s probably just a lamp that Angelica turned on and accidentally knocked over, I told myself. But there didn’t seem to be much else to do besides listen to the loud thudding of hail and the occasional rumble of a car crawling across the icy street, so I slid the computer box fully onto the desk and walked over to the treadmill. I leaned over the handlebars and gasped.
A shimmering golden crystal lay forgotten in a heap of socks, glowing dimly as if a low-battery flashlight was shining through it. The light was much more natural, though, more like the rays of the sun. I looked back at Angelica. She was reading the back of another book, not paying the light any attention. Shrugging, I walked around the treadmill and knelt by the gem. It was about the size of my fist, with a darker center that branched out through it like a tiny flame.
It’s probably just a fake, glass or something. But then, why is it glowing? Curious, I reached down to touch it.
I started and drew back. The moment my fingertips brushed the stone, the light went out like a dead light bulb.
Shaking my head at my jumpiness, I lifted the stone, looking for a button or switch that had turned off the light. I found none, but I did notice that the facets were smoother than glass. It was unreal. . . and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Wondering what it was, I flicked the stone. A quiet ringing filled my ears—-which seemed impossible, since I could feel it wasn’t hollow.
“Sandra? What’s up?”
I stood and raised the stone for my friend to see. “I found this over here. Do you know what it is?”
“Oh, I remember that!” she exclaimed. “Mom used to hang it above my bed. Like a good luck charm.” She frowned thoughtfully as she folded another green sweater. “I accidentally broke the chain holding it up like two years ago. I haven’t seen it since. Do you want it?” Her question took me off guard.
“Don’t you?” I asked, looking at it. It was amazing.
Angelica shrugged and replied, “Not really. I wouldn’t know what to do with it anymore.”
“Thanks, Angel,” I told her, taking one last look at it before placing it carefully in my pocket.
“I’m glad you like it,” she told me.
A silence followed, Angelica returning to the sweaters while I knelt next to the computer box this time, dusting off my hands. After a few moments, I spotted a pile of what looked like hooks and screws, and fetched the dull green container where Angelica and I had started storing the tools. Scooping the bits of metal into the case, I looked around for my next target.

Knowing that neither the sun nor my family would be up for hours, I reached for my book, on the end table where I had last left it. I started as my fingertips brushed something that was ice cold. I sat up in alarm, then relaxed as I saw the golden stone Angelica had given me. The hard facets of the stone and the golden print on the cover of my book both glittered in the lamplight. Shaking my head at my jumpiness, I grabbed the book and rolled over, flipping through the white pages until I found the last one I’d read.
Mom, Dad, and Jasmine one by one woke and went about their own routines, and after about two hours the house was filled with my sister’s classical music. An average and perfect morning in the Bruen household.
School was pretty normal, if you could ignore the buzz of excitement surrounding everyone and being sent home early. Angelica was overjoyed by the dress she had found—I could already picture exactly what it looked like, and I hadn’t even seen it yet; Natalya seemed more interested in her cell phone than talking about the dance; and the rest of my friends were delighting in teasing each other about their dates.
When I got home, I returned to my room and changed into my dress. It was a simple thing, a sky blue gown with golden straps and a sunshine sash, which was how I liked it. What weren’t simple were my boots. Blue with sparkling white buckles and stylized branches stitched into the material, they were knee-high and had four-inch heels.
After I finally tightened the last buckle, I stood up and walked over to where my jewelry box lay open, slipping on a golden bracelet and ring, along with a pin shaped like a row of gold-and-sapphire flowers to hold back my hair above my left ear. Finally, I clasped a thin chain around my neck, gently lifting the sea shell that hung from it. My mother had given it to me five years ago when we moved from Colorado to our new home in Maine, and it had joined me everywhere I went since. The shell was small and white with a green sheen, and was twisted in a spiral simmilar in shape to a classic icecream cone.
I jumped as Mom called my name from downstairs. Letting my shell fall back into the hollow of my throat, I turned and started towards the door, but stopped instantly when I saw the golden stone, back on my end table. It was glowing.
Blinking a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, I cautiously stepped closer, and reached out to grab it. For the second time, the light went out when I touched it. I frowned, staring at it, willing it to start glowing again, but my mother called me again, and I was forced to stop. I almost set it back down, then I paused, considering, and quickly untied my sash, retying it and using the stone as a buckle of sorts before hurrying downstairs.
When I halted at the foot of the stairs, I wasn’t surprised to see my mother waiting for me. She beamed when she saw me and gushed happily as she gave me a warm hug. I laughed lightly at her and pulled on a white fur coat over my dress to ward off the cold, kissing my mother goodbye before slipping outside through the glass front door.
I instantly saw Natalya’s black minivan idling in front of my house with Angelica and Kathrine and the Sanders sisters, Anastasia and Heather, waiting in the back. I spotted Bryan sitting in the cab next to his sister, absently shuffling a card deck.
My mood brightened further as I saw Angelica, wrapped up in her frilly pink dress, roll open a window and wave energetically to me. Her wild red hair looked like she’d tried to pile it neatly on top of her head; the frizzy curls poked out at odd angles, though, making it cute rather than pretty. I smiled, waving back and joining them. As I climbed into the car, I peered over at Natalya. She wore a long fur coat similar in style to mine—we’d bought them together a few weeks ago—so I couldn’t see her dress, but I knew it would be black and fancy, like everything else she wore.
I turned to Angelica as Natalya started down the street, recognizing her unconscious fidgeting as a sign that she was waiting to say something.
“Did I miss anything?” I questioned, and Angelica launched into an account of the last hour or so. Apparently, Heather had slipped on the ice outside her house, but she had managed to avoid landing in the snow, and was still relatively dry. Angelica had spent half an hour trying to tame her hair, and she seemed far from pleased with the end result, but she didn’t want to be late for the dance.
I leaned back and relaxed while she spoke, and didn’t even notice when we arrived at the school. I sat up as the others started climbing out, and looked around. The others’ dance partners were waiting a few yards away, and as I stood to climb out of the car, Bryan walked over and held out his hands. I let him lift me down, leaning closer to give him a playful kiss before starting after our friends with our fingers laced together.
We headed into the chamber beside the ballroom to hang our coats on the half-filled racks there, and I joined in when the other girls started admiring each other’s gowns and spinning pirouettes to show off their flashy costumes. Our group’s mood was running high as a whole, and we hovered in the coat room for a minute or two playing around. After that we proceeded into the ballroom, where we would split off into pairs.
When we reached the immense dance floor, I stumbled on the near-invisible rim, but Bryan steadied me and then guided me deeper into the crowd of dancers. I looked around as we walked, smiling as I saw the giant disco ball high above us, because my stone was much more beautiful.
Bryan and I stopped not far from the edge of the crowd, where we could escape from the throng if we wished but where we could still feel the energy of the other dancers around us.
“Care to dance?” I asked, trading my grip on his right hand for his left.
Bryan placed his hand on my waist with a half-smile. “That’s why I’m here.”
Carefully at first, we started dancing, getting used to each other; though we’d been dating for a few months now, I’d never actually danced with him before. It didn’t help that he was a foot taller than me, but after a few minutes I got used to his height. He was a good dancer, I realized with surprise. Very good...
I met his calm green eyes, wondering, as he led me easily across the dance floor. His movements were fluid and relaxed, yet almost too fast for me to follow. At times it even seemed that he was holding back, trying not to move too fast, and I could tell that when he tripped once, it was intentional, as if to convince me that he wasn’t more graceful than a fox.
As I looked at him more closely, I fancied that I could almost see someone other than him, like a shadowy image over his face. The person I saw had ice-blue eyes, not olive-green, and his hair was long and fine, and dark as raven feathers. The shadow-face was handsome but strange, with fair skin and angled features...
I think it is because Word has longer lines, but yeah. Two pages on Word is like, a foot of stuff on Goodreads.

I'd love to know what everyone thinks of it, as always.
flowers, waterfalls, and knights. This may be apparent in my writing. If you are allergic to any of these subjects, I would suggest you keep a safe distance from my work, as it may be dangerous.*grins* Anyway, thanks for stopping by. I hope you have a wonderful day!