A Beautiful Torment (A Beautiful Book. 2) **ON HOLD**

Chapter Three - Sharing is Caring

When I was younger, way before I knew I could Shift, I'd spend hours on the white sands of The Gulf of Laconia. I'd bury my toes in the sand and tilt my head to capture the cool, crisp breeze that blew through. I'd lay on my back, fisting my fingers in the sand and mentally counting each and every grain within my fingers' reach. I remember looking skyward, my eyes squinting against the sun's glare and wondering what it would be like to fly; to feel the clouds' mist kiss my skin.

I'd spend many hours bird watching. I'd study their habits: where they ate, where they nested, how long they nested for, and even how long it took for them to defecate.

I was captivated.

Flying was all I could think about, so when my father brought up the idea of dragons, giant reptiles that could somehow lift their scaly bodies skyward, I became head over heels obsessed. Flying wasn't just all that I could think about, it was all I could dream about. I ate, slept, and walked flying. I wondered what feathers felt like, and how they worked. I wondered how strong they had to be, and if I could somehow grow them if I took one of the mage's potions from down the road in the nearby village.

Maybe I could fly.

My father laughed, though his smile didn't meet his eyes, and told me to dream big. It was then that I decided to tell him that I had many dreams in which I soared above the clouds, ivory wings, large and strong, stretched out beside me; flexing and lifting me up-up-up.

He asked me: "White wings? Like a dove?"

Me: "Yes."

Him: "With white feathers? No other colors?"

Me in an excited tone: "Yes."

My father pondered this a moment, and suddenly his face was very serious, his mouth pressed in a thin white line. "Mara, you listen to me, and don't forget what I tell you. Understand? What I am about to tell you will last a lifetime."

I nodded eagerly. "Yes, Daddy. Of course."

I expected a long speech on life and death, or why I was different from the other kids in the village and why they tended to stay away from me. (I later found out that their parents sensed something wrong with my father - like sheep noticing a wolf.) But instead, all he told me was, "Be wary, my beautiful flower. You do not have dreams for no apparent reason, so be cautious. No dream means nothing, and they tend to manifest themselves."

Of course I took this to heart, but not in the way my father probably expected - or wanted - me to do.

If I had those dreams, and father said they manifest themselves, that could only mean that I was bound to grow white wings, right? Strong ones with sparkling feathers that glistened under the sun's rays like a thousand crystal tears.

Just like everything else in my life, my dreams came crashing down around me like a tidal wave.

It was a few hundred years later when I finally matured enough to Shift (I was matured way before that but my father was a wee bit over protective) and the year was 500 AD. The Western Roman Empire had crumbled and time around us was slowly melting into the Renaissance. Times were looking better for humanity, though it was never bad for my father and I, and monarchies started popping up all over Europe like sprouts on an old potato.

Jeblington, the Kingdom in which my father and I lived in at the moment, was having it's annual Masquerade Ball. My father had bought me a dress; one with long lace sleeve and low neckline. It's color was one of rusted iron, with a golden and green embroidered stomacher.

Beautiful.

My date to the dance, however, wasn't someone my father approved of at all. My heart apparently wasn't ready for love.