Broken Wings

Prologue

                                                                 8 Years Before

        "We have to tell her," my father whispers to my mother.

        Her black hair falling in her face. "When shes older," my mother sighs

        "It would be better to tell her now." He says, frustrated.

        Shocked, my mom hisses, "shes just a child, Thomas."

        My father sits down at the small, wooden kitchen table. Everything in our house is made out of wood or plastic, if its not then my mother would wither away, metal, especially iron, is poisonous to fairies, and will eventually kill them, if they are exposed to it for to long. "I know that, Diana," he buries his face in his arms, "but she's in danger."

        She puts her hand on his arm, "and us telling her now won't change that." She replies, gently.

        I've heard enough, I quietly make my way back to my room. But when I reach the stairs, the floorboards betray me with a squeak. I stand still, hoping my parents didn't hear the noise, but no chance, with my father's sensitive hearing, and all. The next second my parents are standing next to me, with arms crossed. I face them and say, " fancy meeting you hear."

        My mom smirks and responds. "What are you doing out of bed?" She never liked sarcasm, but my dad on the other hand gives a snort of laughter. At least until she elbows him in the side, and he shuts up.

        "So?" She asks again, crossing her pastel blue arms. Most fairies have oddly colored skin, usually greens, violets, blues, and greys, at least that what I've been told, I've never actually seen fairies, other than my mom and aunt Isabelle. I got that gene from my mother, the blue skin and obsidian hair, but the silver eyes from my father.

        My mind races furiously trying to come up with an excuse, but my mouth doesn't get the message, and it blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "I had to pee." I'm mentally strangling myself right now, considering my bed room is on the second floor, and the kitchen is on the first, and also the bathroom is right next to my room.

        Thankfully my dad comes to the rescue, and explains, "she fell asleep on the couch, in the living room, and i didn't want to wake her, and face the wrath of our little demon, so i left her there to sleep."

        She looks between my father and I, trying to figure out if either one of us is lying, but her face relaxes and she says, "okay, but you should go to bed at a decent time in the future, so that this doesn't happen again."

        I nod and breath a silent sigh of relief. I give my dad a look that says thank you,and say "well, I'm off to bed, goodnight," and i scurry up the stairs, making a point to stop at the restroom on my way.