Avonlea

"There's just one problem," He said to me.

"And that is?" I asked, but I knew what was coming.

"You can't wear that. It's repulsive." He indicated the leather bracelet attached to my wrist. I sighed.

The bracelet had belonged to my great-great-grandmother, and it had been passed down through the generations to me. It was a symbol of the Avonlea family, and everyone knew it when they saw it. There was no room left for doubt.

I'd been approached hundreds of times over the years, by people asking me to remove "that offensive sign" from my hand. People who's family's had suffered. People who'd lost relatives. But I never did. Their petty grievances weren't my problem. I was proud of my heritage, even if the magic the Avonlea family had wielded had cost many people their lives. We were no more of course. Our magic had fizzled out with time, but I was still proud to be related to the line, even if my pride meant it was near impossible for me to get a job in the modern world.

All of my other siblings had faded into society peacefully, shedding their identity like a snake does it's skin. But not me. And I knew that up there, somewhere, the Avonleas were proud.