Nightmare.

Preview of Chapter Eight. Barnaby was having a nightmare. Hope you enjoy.

“Barnaby Percy Bryant!” Cedric yelled. “How many times do I have to tell to stay on the property unless you have my permission!”

“At least once more, sir.”

“You little ungrateful brat.” Cedric slapped his hand across Barnaby’s cheek, now a home for the sting of Cedric’s slaps. “You had tons of work you needed to do, you need to train Barnaby.”

“Why do I need to train so hard? With little to know breaks, and absolutely no freedom?” Barnaby raised his voice. He knew not to raise his voice to Cedric, even when he was angry. But now he couldn’t help himself, he’s been holding this in way too long.

“You need to protect yourself, and your sister.”

“Who in the hell would try to-“

“That’s enough Barnaby.” Cedric said, in the tone of voice that told Barnaby to shut up.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, he wouldn’t let Cedric treat him this way any more.

“No, it’s not. Why are you keeping us in the dark all the time? Why won’t you let us go to town? You still say no even when we ask for permission.”

“I said that’s enough!” Cedric screamed and slapped Barnaby again with the back of his hand.

This was a new sting, a new feeling running down his cheek. He reached up and felt what it was, there was an inch long cut running under his cheekbone. Cedric’s ring had cut him.

Barnaby turns to walk away, Cedric grabbed his shoulder to stop him, “Give it here Barnaby.” Cedric held out his hand.

“Give what? I don’t have anything.” Barnaby lied.

Cedric’s grip was too tight on his shoulder; he couldn’t just evaporate out of there like he normally would have. That always made Cedric angrier.

“The things you stole during this outing.” Cedric squeezed harder. “You’re getting better, Barnaby. But still not good enough.”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Barnaby tried to pry Cedric’s hand off of his shoulder, but he was much stranger. “When will I be good enough for you? When I can pick something up with out being visible? Which is impossible. When I can evaporate someone with me? Which, by the way, is also impossible. Or when I’m done doing your dirty work?”

Cedric’s hand moved to around Barnaby’s neck with so much speed, with so much force, Barnaby swore he heard a snap.

Glamour.

Do you believe in people with wings?

I'm not talking about angels, I'm talk about people that weren't meant to have wings. Genetic mutations that were caused in a lab. If you have read James Patterson's Maximum Ride Series you would know what I'm talking about. And if you've never read it, I highly recommend it.

I'm a pretty gullible person. Like a child, I believe in things most people don't. I believe there are things in the world that most people cannot see, that people choose not to see because they were forced to believe they aren't real.

My parents call it an over active imagination.

But I believe in a lot of things that most people get called crazy for, and this is no different. People can be cruel, they can do the things mentioned in Maximum Ride and even worse things. Again, people choose to believe people can't be that cruel. And so they automatically deem everything that's past the realm of "normal" into fiction, works of the imagination.

Well those shadows in the dark, those noises that only you can hear, and those kids that seem just a little bit paranoid could all be part of the "fiction" world. Just open your eyes and your mind and let the glamour slip away and you could being seeing the exact things you thought didn't exist.

Son? Daughter?

Have you ever gotten confused about a persons gender? Has anyone ever been confused about your gender?

It's a pretty awkward moment, for both sides.

Not counting the times I've been hit on by girls on myspace, I've been mistaken as a male twice.

The first was by a woman at the Heritage Center in Cripple Creek. My mom and I were going there to see my piece if the art show, even though it was taken down early but that's another story altogether, and the woman was working the front desk. To find out how much my mom needed to pay to get in, the woman asked-

"How old is your son...daughter?"

Now, both my mom and I could tell she didn't mean to offend me, she was just unsure. So I just smiled and answered her, then laughed about it. Some girls get really offended if someone, even if they didn't mean to, mistakes them for a guy. I don't, I think it's funny. But I could understand why she was confused. I was wearing a baggy shirt, a baggy hoodie with the hood up, skinny jeans, and my hair was in my face so you couldn't even see my eyes. I would've had a hard time. The woman began to say like, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Your hair made it hard for me." And stuff like that. I just smiled and laughed and told her it was okay, that it had happened before and to not to worry about it. We both eventually laughed about it.

Another time was at Outback Steakhouse recently.

It was family night. We went to dinner and a movie because my brother returned home from college. When we were seated at Outback and our waitress comes over, I didn't even notice at first until she asked my brother (who I was sitting next to) his drink order. Now when I sit in a booth in a resturaunte I like to sit in the corner, I don't really know why. I was wearing a kind of loose fitting shirt, my hoodie, and a hat that night. When she asked for my drink order she said-

"And for you, sir?"

I was the last person to give her their drink order, so I know I didn't hear her incorrectly. I tried so hard not to laugh. She didn't sound unsure about if I was actually a "sir" or not, but I still wasn't offended. If anything, I wanted to laugh harder than the first time. Because this time, you could clearly see that I had breasts. And I don't think I sound like a guy. But after I gave her my drink order I couldn't hold back my laughter any longer. My brother heard her too and was kind of chuckling along with me.

Because this is the first year I've had short hair in a long time, this is a new experience for me. But a funny one.

I don't know what this post is supposed to be telling you, but I thought it might be a good laugh.

Preview of Chapter Seven.

“I’m telling you Reese, Cedric is here in Virginia. I don’t know where, but he’s here. I can feel it.” Kale tells me once we get home after school.

We’ve been together for three months now, for three months Kale’s been living with me. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I have a brother, a twin brother nonetheless.

“How do you know?” I ask. As soon as we started walking home he’s been saying this. “Have you seen him?”

“No. But I know he’s here! I can always tell when Cedric is around.”

“Except for that time he caught you playing with fire.” I pointed out.

Kale rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, “Yes, except for that time.”

“So maybe it’s nothing.” I take a water from the fridge, “Maybe you’re just freaking yourself out.”

“But I’m not. I’ve had this feeling for a few days now. I wasn’t sure at first, but since this morning I’m sure of it.”

I took another water out and threw it to Kale. I sighed, thinking it over. I’ve never seen Kale this wound up, and he’s never given me a reason not to believe him.

“Okay,” I take a seat on the couch, “so lets say Cedric was here, why would he choose now? I mean, after all these years, why choose now to find you?”

“God dammit,” He rolled his eyes again, “I don’t know! Perhaps he’s been busy, or he’s just remembered I’m still alive. Who really knows!”

Kale pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in slow breaths. If you looked really closely, every time he let out a breath a puff a steam came out of both his nose and mouth. I’ve never seen that happen before.

“All I know is,” He started again, “this feeling that I have is not a good one. If he’s here, it is not just to say hello and stay for tea.”

He’s never yelled before, or sound so raddled and angry. Something must be really wrong.

4/20.

I hate this day. Okay I don't really hate it, I'm just greatly annoyed by it.

This is my take on "National" Smoke Weed Day:

Some loser, or a group of losers, in a basement decided one day to create a day where you can celebrate weed, or the munchies. I haven't decided which one yet. There is no reason to celebrate a substance that destroys your body. And yes, it does destroy your body. You are not made to handle that many chemicals, and your lungs aren't made to survive ANY kind of smoke. And to every stoner that says it's natural so it must be good for you, you're wrong. Not everything that's natural it good for you, some is deadly. I have friends that smoke, the majority of the students in my school smoke, and other times I can handle their drug talk. But today it was too much. I mean, a freshman girl showed up to class today stoned off her ass. Today is NOT a holiday, there is no reason to celebrate. Today should be a day of mourning.

Another thing that pisses me off that today is declared "National" Smoke Weed Day, it's making people forget what happened at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado eleven years ago.

Today is the anniversary of a tragedy that happened in our own state, and I didn't hear one person talk about it today, not even in the morning announcements.

It's been bypassed for a plant.

Granted, I was only five when Columbine happened. But I still understood what had happened and that some families were never going to see their children again. It was a major tragedy, all someone has to say is "Columbine" and people automatically know what they're referring to.

I just think 4/20 should be more about remembering Columbine than about a stupid plant that gives you a feeling of euphoria for a couple hours and then the munchies. But, that's just my opinion.

I pray for all the families affected by the Columbine shooting.

Sick Little Suicide.

This is a poem I wrote awhile ago for Poetry class. It's quite depressing, and it's bad, but oh well. The stanza's that are only two lines are telling the story from a different point of view, I guess. I know, it's confusing. That's why it's in another color. It's really long. Sorry about that. Anyway, enjoy! And feedback would be appreciated. Sick Little Suicide – That's the song that's going to play. He's planned this for months, Looking over it again, and again – Making sure everything was perfect, That everything would work. The song playing over and over again. The lyrics swimming through his house. His mind has been living in an abyss – He hasn't felt the warmth of happiness, The security of love, Since he was a little boy. When his parents return home and hear the song, They'll wonder why it's suddenly so cold. The bite of the blade – The warmth of the steel, Has kept him alive so far. But now life is becoming too much. The stillness of the house will scare them – The lyrics ringing through their ears like a bad pop song. His friend's sudden abandonment, The jokes and pranks – All the names and rumors, Paved the way towards his downfall. After a weekend away, That is what they'll come home to. He knew it was his fault. His messed up brain, his intense mood swings – It all pushed everyone away. Now they all say he's crazy. But of course, they won't put two and two together. They won't think the song and stillness mean the same thing. Now he doesn't expect to be missed. He's rejected by everyone – Like the one rotten piece of fruit, Everyone has just thrown him away. They'll think everything is fine – Their son is just listening to a song on max volume. He's talked to people who have attempted suicide. Some say they're thankful they survived, Others have tried again many, many more times. Nothing can change his mind. When they go upstairs to check on him, Then they'll see what has really become of their son. He's imagined his parent's reaction, Even dreamed about it, But they've always ended the same. They never even shed a tear of remorse. They'll see their beloved son, His soul long since gone from this Earth. Always their faces were as cold as stone, Their eyes glazing over from shock, Like fog clouding a window – But never any screams of loss for their song. They'll be frozen in place. Both from the chill of the house, and the sight of their son. His plan has always been the same. Always the same date, Always the same song, And always the same way to die. Then his mother would scream – Loud enough that it pierces all of the homes in their neighborhood. The sun sneaks through the windows, Warming the frozen floorboards. It's a beautiful day out – Despite his plan to end it all. They don't know what to do, There's so much blood. He plans to hang himself, After letting his tainted blood run. A slow and painful mixture of both. Making sure he gets what he deserves. Should they cut him down first? Or stop the bleeding? He hangs the rope, grabs the blades – Check. Puts the song on repeat, loud enough for all to hear – Check. They move fast. Cut him down, stop the bleeding, and call an ambulance. The rope hangs inside the closet – On a beam high enough to silence the breathing. He steps onto the small step ladder, razors in hand – He slips the makeshift noose around his neck. He's so cold. His skin almost as translucent as fish scales. He takes one last look as his life – He wants to so this. He opens his skin, letting his veins breath. The blood makes the razor slip from his fingers. Someone could think he was sleeping soundly. Until they noticed how still he actually was. One last breathe. His warm blood drips to the floor – In two small, crimson puddles. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . JUMP! The purple ring around his neck – It was so dark and solid compared to his skin. He heard his neck give a loud pop – His breathe trapped in his throat. He began to panic. His hands frantically clawed at the rope. His mother held him as she fell to the floor. She didn't notice the blood under her. This was stupid, he thought. He could get over his troubles – Ignore everything said about him. He wanted to live. His father fell next to them. They let their tears fall on their son's still face. Blood smeared on his neck, face, and shirt. His vision started to blur – The sound escaping from his ears. He struggled to breathe as everything went black. Their sobs drowned out by that song – Forever ringing in their ears. Two things he couldn't of planned, The beam breaking – And his parents returning home early. They walked through the door just as he made a loud thud. That's what could have happened – If his plan wasn't ruined. They run into his room – His mother starts to cry and fell to his side. His mother rips off the makeshift noose, While his father calls an ambulance. If he never would have panicked – The beam would never have broken. His father wraps scattered clothing on his son's wrists. His mother tries to get him to breathe. There is still a chance to save him – The faint beating of his pulse hidden under his skin. If his parents weren't worried about him – They would never have come home early. With the sudden realization of the open airways, His eyes snap open – His lungs begging for air. His numb hands clawing all around him. The things he couldn't control, he didn't plan – Saved his life. Taking short, hoarse breathes – Unable to get the amount of air he needs – He scoots through his own blood, And backs into the back of his closet. Chance had changed his plans – While Fear changed his mind. Still thinking he was suffocating – He clamored for air, and grasped his neck. His mother tried to calm him down – But he still couldn't hear. He knows now that life is worth living – That everything should be okay. The loss of blood made him dizzy. The sight of his own blood, smeared on the floor – Made him sick. Taking more short, hoarse breathes, he slips into unconsciousness. There are times when he wants to try again – But then he remembers what death was like. A scar now decorated his neck and arms. The smooth, beautiful skin destroyed by the ugly tattoos. But they're beautiful to him, a beautiful reminder – That life doesn't stay bad for long.

DotDotDot.

I feel like I've been ranting a lot lately.

That makes me feel like a cynic. I mean, I am. But I don't have to be one ALL THE TIME.

Only part of the time.

In other news. . .

I turned in my art project for the art show today!

Although, I think I'm the only one excited about this. When I told my mom she didn't seem very happy or excited. Ah well.

Oh, the picture is of Simon (I think) from Lord of The Flies. I love that book, even though it was assigned to us.

Wow, this is really short. It's not even worth reading, really.

I'll have something better up later. Promise.

Snow Day.

On Wednesday we had a snow day, and of course I was happy sense we didn't have to go to school, but we BARELY had any snow that day.

We've had more snow on previous days when we NEEDED a snow day for like, two days, but no. We get rewarded with one when we get not even a foot of snow and by the end of the day it was bright and sunny.

I bet the administration felt smart.

Anyway, that wasn't the problem.

Some idiot cut a wire in the town over and made my towns internet go down for the whole day. From 10 until at least 5 or 6. Okay so I may have exaggerated, but you get the point. I was VERY bored without my internet. And when I get bored, I start thinking up some pretty crazy shit. And I did that for awhile, but I resolved it.

But good things came from lack of interwebz too.

Like one of my friends, Kym, or KymSaysHello on Twitter, started writing a story during that time.

So she said over Twitter something like, "When the net is back up, I might ask @DarbeeBear to read it :3"

I felt quite happy that she thought my word was good enough in her mind to be one of the first people to read her story, which is actually quite good. Awesome, actually.

So, once the internet came back on and she sent it to me, I spent most of my time reading that. And fighting with a stupid Justin Bieber fan from Australia. But that's besides the point.

I realize I rant a lot. I should probably change that.

Preview.

Instead of reading some rant about Easter Sunday and my (too long) Church gathering, here is a preview of Rhyland and Oliver's short story (thing). Hope you like it, I'm REALLY enjoying writing about them at the moment.

I looked down at my brothers sleeping face. He always looked angelic when he slept; maybe it is the way his skin seems to glow. What a stupid thing for me to say, of course he looks angelic. He’s an angel after all. Not the kind of angels that you read about in that book, the Bible. Those kinds of angels are fake, made-up, a myth. How those people make angels seem Holy, good-natured, with not a bad bone in their bodies. Oh, and those stupid halo’s. Real angels aren’t that nice. Truth is, angels didn’t live to follow some guy human’s named God. How angels really were looked more like the Greek Gods than anything in that Bible. There are High Angels, Lesser Angels, Guardians, Dyers, then at the WAY bottom of the line are the Thrown.

That’s what I am, and my brother Oliver.

Just one thing before I go. . .

Happy Jesus Christ Turning Into A Zombie Day!

Teachers.

My Fashion Design teacher has some serious issues.

In my opinion at least.

She gave us an assignment to do over Spring Break (lame right?), and somehow we got into a discussion about the reasons why guys sag their pants. Seeing as how we don’t have a male IN our class, we couldn’t just as him. Some girls said that they think it’s “disgusting” whenever a guy sags. Personally, I think it’s attractive if done a certain way. Just saying. Now, something about my teacher, lets call her Mrs. Crazybitch, always makes have an attitude towards her. Which never happens with any teacher. We push each others buttons basically. Wanting to speak my opinion, I said how I think sagging is kind of comfortable. Unlike some of the other girls in my class, who wear pink and skirts, I’ve sagged on more than one occasion so I felt like I had more insight on the subject. Mrs. Crazybitch didn’t really like that. She tried so hard to turn the subject back into a negative, and she gave a rude look for saying that it’s comfortable. People these days… -_____-

Maybe just as one final push on Mrs. Crazybitch’s big button I’ll dress as a guy one day, and sag my jeans below my ass. Seeing as how she doesn’t like it very well. Hm.

Teachers, especially Mrs. Crazybitch, suck.

Faerie.

It’s against Dorchadas Laws to be with a vampire. Forbidden, actually. But when your Court is living in a forest surrounding a vampire House, it’s hard not to notice them. For me at least. It seems pretty easy for the other members of the Dorchadas Court; they can ignore the vampires with ease. Especially my mother, the Dorchadas Queen. Until yesterday, that is.

The new Head of House has been chosen for New York. Because we faeries are living in the forest on “vampire land” the Dorchadas Queen, King, and children (me) are supposed to go to the House to have a meeting with the new Head of House. There, although I’m never allowed in the meetings, we try to set some common ground, keep the peace with the vampires. I’m always excited to see the new vampire boss and especially if he has any children of his own.

My mother would be put to shame if she ever heard me talk like that.

“Excited about meeting a vampire?” She would say, “Befriending a vampire? That is not how my daughter should be talking!”

But I can’t help it. I’m different than her. I’m different than everyone in the Dorchadas Court. I’m the odd one out. It’s just the way I am.

The Dorchadas Court is the oddball court in the first place. Other Faeries are the offspring of Angels and Demons. Dorchadas Faeries however are the offspring of Demons and Dyers. Other names for them are Fallen Angels, Angels of Death, Black Angels, and many more. But all Dyers are considered evil or dark because of how they obtain their Angelic status. Other Faeries are light, brightly colored clothing and hair; their skin always seems to glow.

Dorchadas Faeries are dark. Our hair is a dark color, our eyes black, our clothing black or gray, and our skin is as white as death. Except for me, that is. I am full-blooded Dorchadas, but I’m not normal.

ACT.

There is one MAJOR part about being a Junior in high school that sucks the most.

The ACT's.

And mine are coming up soon. Tests are definitely not my best thing in school. Okay well, school isn't my best thing ever. And considering how important the ACT's are, I'm the most nervous I've ever been for a test. Granted, it's in late April, but time flies. Especially when you zone out in class and escape into the depths of your mind, like me. The only parts I'm worried about are the math and science parts, those are ALWAYS my lowest scores for the state test we had to take every year. I fail miserably at math. The reading a english parts are always my best.

Fury Poem.

This is my Poetry Project. I already know I'm not the best at poetry, so don't laugh.

It's about Kale and what he might feel if he ever saw Cedric again. Not nice, not nice at all.

Well, I'm kind of nervous posting this but . . . Hope you enjoy!

Fury

You do not know true fury –

Scarlet red clouding your vision,

Screaming at the top of your lungs –

That’s not real fury.

When you’re standing face-to-face – toe-to-toe –

With a man you thought was like your father,

But only using you like a tool –

Then running away, leaving you all alone –

That’s real fury.

Scorching fire in my hands –

Hot enough to burn any normal human being –

Now racing through my body like a wild fire.

Fire has no sense of humor now –

It’s looking to do more than scare him.

He doesn’t look so scared now –

Calm and collected, as usual.

Even though I’m ten times stronger.

I could turn his skin to ash –

And his bones to charcoal.

But he needs to give me a reason –

I won’t hurt someone for no reason, unlike him.

I can keep the fire under control –

But only for so long.

Fire hates to be controlled.

Back.

First day back at school after Spring Break.

Had to go from waking up at 11:00 for a week, to waking up at 5:00 a.m. again. Again, I hate mornings.

Of course this day wouldn't be perfect, no school day is. Ever.

But this morning started out worse than usual.

I forgot I had set my iHome as my alarm clock AND my cell phone. So I had Bring Me The Horizon blaring while the annoying chimes of my cell phone alarm going off at the same time. My ears were STILL ringing a half-hour later.

After I got out of the shower I took my pill for my ADD, like any other school morning. I haven't taken my pills for a week because of Spring Break, I mean when will have to pay attention during vacation? As a result of that, I was quite light headed and clear minded while I blow dried and straightened my hair. Plus my new conditioner did NOT agree with my hair and left this weird texture.

Now to my biggest problem of the morning.

If you know me, you should know I always wear a hat outside of school. I have more hats then shoes, but I only have one hat that I wear ALL THE TIME. It's special. I didn't really like how my hair looked so I wanted to wear it to make not as poofy. Only one problem...

I couldn't find it.

The places that I usually put it, it wasn't there. After I threw clothes around, dug through my bed, I started to freak out. I know, it's stupid to freak over a misplaced hat. But to me, that was serious. I roamed the house looking everywhere I was in the day before that I could have left it in. It was no where to be found. Now, I'm not the most thorough, I usually half-ass looking through things. I only tore through the places I usually toss it, not the other parts of my room. Now my room is kind of dark, especially in the early morning. I have HORRIBLE lighting, so I took a flashlight on my desk to look in the darker parts, lo and behold, there it was. Under a plastic bag. Glad I found it, I was about to send out a search brigade.

On a lighter note, my art project.

The art project I'm working on now is the first project I'm actually proud of. I usually hate everything I do because it NEVER comes out the way I pictured it. But this one, at least so far, everything is going perfect. My teacher seems to really like it, but I'm just guessing here because she says it's "amazing" and "awesome" and "fantastic" every time she sees it. Yes, that was sarcasm. Anyway, today during class she asked to put it in the next art show. I was shocked and ecstatic at the same time. This is the first time I've been asked, and to think I can show TONS of people the work I'm actually proud of is amazing. She needs it by April 8th, and I still have a lot of work to do. But it's going to be worth it.

Church.

Today is Sunday. Besides Mondays, one of the worst days of the week.

I don't mean to offend anyone, but I hate church. And in my family, who is very religious and have been going to church every Sunday, that's a problem.

I don't like what they talk about, especially about sin. Saying that if you do a certain thing you'll be damned to Hell unless you're "forgiven" by God or Jesus. Humans are programmed to Sin, we are programmed to be lazy, greedy, vain, envious, and angry. It's in our brain, our blood, we can't help it. And to say that you're going to Hell for something you can't help is ridiculous. Even the priests and overly religious people aren't all squeaky clean like they preach about. They want you to be perfect, and let's face it. Nobody is perfect. Especially in history the church hasn't been the nicest of people. Back then the church has always been corrupt and greedy, granted it's gotten better, but it's still shows some of it's greedy side. Well, at least in my church. Not to mention their judgmental tendencies. Jesus didn't discriminate, he loved everyone.

Now on a personal level, I've always thought church was boring. I've fallen asleep numerous of times. Whenever I'm forced to go (non holiday related) I always bring a book to read, and believe me, my Dad is NEVER happy during that. Nor are the people sitting around me. The people in my church have never looked my way very kindly.

Again, I have nothing against Jesus Christ, just Church.

Mornings.

I hate mornings.

I had a hair appointment today, and this may sound vain, but I LOVE getting my hair done. Only because my hair is the only thing about myself (besides my writing) I'm proud of. My hair appointment was kind of last minute, and the only time slot they had left for my stylist was at eight in the morning. And the only reason I was okay with this is because I needed a trim like BAD, you could barely see my face anymore. Plus my color was fading something terrible. Anyway, back on topic, the salon opens at eight. I had to wake up at seven, I nearly died. Mornings are not my best friend, I'm definitely a night owl. I usually wake up at eleven-ish. It took about an hour and a half to do my hair, and by the time Esther (my stylist) was done, I could have still been sleeping if it was a normal day. I mean, I nearly fell asleep in the chair while I was waiting for my color to set in. Note to self: Don't schedule ANYTHING in the morning again.

But on a lighter note, my dad signed me up for a writers conference that's in late April. I'm SO VERY excited. It's going to be really helpful and I can't wait! It's a three day conference and it offers pretty much everything to help a beginning writer like myself. And if I bring in a couple chapters from my manuscript an author that's there could even read it and give me a few pointers! It's hard trying to contain my excitement. SO much stuff is going to happen in April, if all goes well that is.

Pictures of you.

So my mom was watching this show about finding lost relatives or something and she decided she wanted to talk about my birth parents. We really don't do that that often, and I'm totally okay with that. Even though I think about them a lot, and talk about my birth father to my friends a lot. But, tonight is the first time I didn't feel sad when she asked me about my birth mother. I don't like to admit I feel a tad bit sad about the whole thing...

Anyway, getting off topic. I only really have interest in my birth father, even though if I ever wanted to meet him it would be harder sense my parents never met him. And when I told my mom that she just came right out and said "His name is Uri," and for some reason, my heart kind of sank. This is TOTALLY new information. That's always been one of my favorite names. And I've always known my mom has had a picture of him, and she's even asked me if I've wanted to see it, see him, but I've never really wanted to. Until now that is.

I have this funny feeling in my tummy now. She still has to find the photo, but I'm still a mix of nervous and excited. He's an artist, and Polish, which I'm quite proud of. My mom says I get my artistic abilities from him. It would be cool if I met him one day. But after my mom said she never met him, I wonder if he even knew about me...

It's weird what a simple mention of a photo and a name can make me think about...

Explanation?

Some people may wonder what Dorchadas House means.

Well, let me tell you.

It is two different parts, or rather places, from my story Immortal. Now my story is somewhat complex because of the number of important characters in it, and the title of this "blog?" comes from two of those characters.

Dorchadas is from my character Prosper Patch, or just Patch. She's a faerie from the Dorchadas Court. "Dorchadas" is Irish for Darkness, and her Court is basically very dark, including the faeries in it. Unlike the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. And seeing as I'm kind of "dark" myself, I thought it fit.

The House portion is a little less interesting. I have a vampire character named Greyston, and in the vampire world (at least in my mind) there are these places called "Houses." The Houses are in the four major vampire populated cities in America. They are basically the White Houses of the vampire world.

My family thinks I'm a cynic, and because of this I thought a great title would be "Dorchadas House" or "Dark House." Seeing as how I have a "dark outlook on life" and all that jazz.

Introduction

Er.

Hi, Hello. My name is Darby Marie Peters. I hate my name. I don't really know what I plan to do with this, but I'll just go with it. I have a lot on my mind, pretty much all the time. So maybe I'll put it here. I'll try to be as open as possible.

I write all the time. Prose, poetry, but mostly prose. I might put some of that here. But you will more than likely find THAT on my deviantART.

I like dolls. I have a BJD (ball jointed doll) named Reese, and I plan on getting A LOT more. Reese is based off of my original character from my story Immortal, and I love him to bits. This is going to make me sound crazy, but if you have characters of your own you'd understand, he's like my best friend. Just in doll form.