[WINNER OF BEST HISTORICAL FICTION STORY IN THE FICTION AWARDS] There is a story that has been whispered into ear after ear across many countries. It's a sad but hopeful story, the story of The Lost Princess of Scotland. You should know that the story I am about to tell you is true. The horrific events within said story are real, however I should inform you that some details have been altered and exaggerated over the passing years so believe as much as you wish... ~~~ Seventeen years after the tragic attack on the Scottish Kingdom, Rosalie is leading a simple life with her Aunt and Uncle in England. Their lives are soon turned upside down when an unwelcome visitor calls upon their cottage. Running for her life Rose stumbles upon the help of Georgiana, Princess of England. Introduced to a whole new way of life, Rose finds herself falling for Georgiana's older brother, Alexander. Lust and power are a dangerous combination and Rose soon finds herself caught in the middle of a treacherous plot. The Kingdom may not be the safest place to stay after all. [[word count: 50,000-100,000 words]]

"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.

People think we're crazy. Others think we're insane. While others discover they're not alone. There are people in the world that understand what it's like to be crazy. They know what it's like to hear that voice in your head tell you crazy things. And the worst part? You believe them.