Note: This was posted several months ago in another thread. I simply decided that since Black Sheep is Cassie's home now, I should have all of her stuff here. So, no new material in this, sorry guys!
Dirty little secrets: everyone has them. In this case, she was the secret. It hadn't been until she was ten years old that she'd understood the whispers behind adults' hands, the looks of pity directed at her aunt and uncle, and the ones of smug superiority when they looked at her. Even the children followed their parents' examples, cutting her out of games and calling her names. She'd been trying to find somewhere quiet, away from the noise of her cousins, and she overheard two of the maids gossiping, as they often did, and her name and the words "bastard" and "unnatural" kept coming up. At sixteen she found a box in the attic marked with her mother's name, and inside that box, journals. That was the day she learned the truth about herself-why strange things happened when she was upset, why her hair was a soft lavendar, and who the man who was responsible for those things was. She'd always held herself somewhat aloof from her peers, but she became even more so now, and at eighteen, two years after discovering the truth, she fled her home in England and found herself bouncing from place to place until she ended up in RhyDin.
She was twenty now, and after four years of first plotting and planning, and then searching, she had found him. Alexander Ravenlock, the man whose blood ran through her veins. She caught her first glimpse of him at a wedding. There'd been some changes from the descriptions she had, but it was him, she knew it. She'd approached him afterwards, meaning only to strike up a friendly conversation to gain his measure and then slip away. Actually confronting him had been much different than she'd imagined though, and she let it slip who she was. Unexpected words were exchanged, and she lost her temper and her control and ended up collapsing, exhausted, at the end of the night. Now, rested and more fully prepared, she was already planning her next move. He'd said some things that almost made her think twice, but no matter how much he professed to be sorry and that it had been the worst mistake of his life to leave, he hadn't come back and that's what she would focus on.
Dirty little secrets: everyone has them. In this case, she was the secret. It hadn't been until she was ten years old that she'd understood the whispers behind adults' hands, the looks of pity directed at her aunt and uncle, and the ones of smug superiority when they looked at her. Even the children followed their parents' examples, cutting her out of games and calling her names. She'd been trying to find somewhere quiet, away from the noise of her cousins, and she overheard two of the maids gossiping, as they often did, and her name and the words "bastard" and "unnatural" kept coming up. At sixteen she found a box in the attic marked with her mother's name, and inside that box, journals. That was the day she learned the truth about herself-why strange things happened when she was upset, why her hair was a soft lavendar, and who the man who was responsible for those things was. She'd always held herself somewhat aloof from her peers, but she became even more so now, and at eighteen, two years after discovering the truth, she fled her home in England and found herself bouncing from place to place until she ended up in RhyDin.
She was twenty now, and after four years of first plotting and planning, and then searching, she had found him. Alexander Ravenlock, the man whose blood ran through her veins. She caught her first glimpse of him at a wedding. There'd been some changes from the descriptions she had, but it was him, she knew it. She'd approached him afterwards, meaning only to strike up a friendly conversation to gain his measure and then slip away. Actually confronting him had been much different than she'd imagined though, and she let it slip who she was. Unexpected words were exchanged, and she lost her temper and her control and ended up collapsing, exhausted, at the end of the night. Now, rested and more fully prepared, she was already planning her next move. He'd said some things that almost made her think twice, but no matter how much he professed to be sorry and that it had been the worst mistake of his life to leave, he hadn't come back and that's what she would focus on.