A/N: Hello. This is a quick introduction to my babies: two super-powered-not-entirely-human best friends, one of which is a personna of me and one who I've stolen my name from. Please don't steal my babies. I made them myself. If you want to use my children, ask. I have realized there is a comment section, so this makes this easier. Just ask. I'll tell you if you can use them if you tell me which one(s) you want, and what you will use them for (art: tell me of what, writing: tell me a plot summary). You do not have free range to steal them, sorry. Now that that unpleasantness is over with, let's continue with the second part of this story! . At lunch, both girls sat down together. Marie seemed determined not to talk first, and stayed quiet, concentrating exclusively on her food. Finally, Kit blurted out, “I'm not a Magic Hunter if that's what you're so paranoid about.” “I'm not paranoid,” she retorted quickly. “I've just never had this conversation with anyone before.” Kit blinked. “Not even with your parents?” “I'm adopted.” “Oh.” Kit found an interesting spot on her jeans. “I only found out I'm a dragonling a couple weeks ago.” “I've known a while. My birth parents wrote a letter to me explaining who I was and what it meant. How'd you find out?” “Strange story actually. My dad had been discovered by Magic Hunters two years ago. He escaped and wiped my mom's and my memories . Couple weeks ago, he gets his brother to scare me half to hell by grabbing me on my way home from school and slipping me a memory potion and a note. Read the note, downed the potion in a convenience store bathroom, broke down, then went to rendezvous with him and my mom. She still has no idea what we are.” “Well, that's pretty sudden,” Marie said. “Yeah,” Kit agreed. “So I'm a dragonling. What are you?” “I'm a psychometric. I can touch stuff and tell what their owner is feeling and thinking. I try to take something from everyone I would need to know. I just touched your pencil by accident, but it still gave my something. Sometimes I can tell the past and future of the object, not the person. I even can get impressions from my own things. I just saw your pencil marking down twelve as wrong, and I changed that. I was pretty sure you were embarrassed by your grip on it, so I assumed you had been called upon and gave the wrong answer. I never get anything off living things, though I've been trying to work on that for a while.” “Huh. That's cool. I literally can't do anything special until I have my first shift, except getting myself killed by touching metal bare-skinned.” “Woah,” the Asian gasped. “So it's poisonous?” “Sort of. It's a deadly allergy, but only if the metal is pure. Anything else will stun me so bad I might go comatose for a while depending on its purity. That's why I have no bling, and own nothing metal except my music.” They both giggled. “So now I have a friend who understands the struggle,” Marie almost whispered, Kit barely hearing her over the bedlam in the rest of the high school cafeteria. “We both do,” The redhead agreed as she grasped Marie's hands hand held them between her own.

A/N: Hello. This is a quick introduction to my babies: two super-powered-not-entirely-human best friends, one of which is a personna of me and one who I've stolen my name from. I introduce you now to Kit and Marie. . Swords clashed. Claws swiped. A fiery red warrior maiden danced through the fray of battle, trailing misery and death behind her. A thin sword world around the girl and her red hair flew like a halo over her head. She ducked and leaped, stabbed and parried. The great beasts she and her kin battled roared and screamed. Man and all manner of beasts threw themselves at the girl, enraged by the deaths of their comrades. Her siblings-in-arms flashed around her, fending off enemies and clearing the way for the warrior to cut through the army to its core: a great metal monster, crushing everything in its path underfoot. That was her goal, to defeat this hellspawn, so her kin would be safe once more. The being howled as she ran to it, and it charged at her. The maiden was undeterred and shouted her battle cry until her throat grew hoarse. She leaped into the air, sword poised for the death blow. She descended toward the beast's long neck and— “Kit!” She blinked twice. “What?” There were snickers in the classroom as Kit struggled to clear her thoughts and Mr D at the front of the room gave a long-suffering sigh. “I asked what the answer to number seven was. Pay attention, please.” He pointed at the girl next to her. “Marie? Answer please?” “Three hundred sixty two decimal three,” She chirped. “Any objections? Correct, Marie,” he continued. “Quinton, number eight.” The boy answered and Kit checked her answers. She was behind correcting the decimals sheet by three questions. Quickly checking them off and praying that they were actually correct for once, she glanced back up to the front. “No, the answer to five is thirty decimal zero seven two four,” someone hissed in her ear. Kit looked at Marie, who was leaning over towards her, then down at her notebook. “Oh. Thanks,” she whispered back. “And he's going to call your name for twelve and your answer is wrong. Here.” Marie took Kit's notebook and corrected the number. Kit stared. “How do you know he'll call me?” Marie started. “Oh, umm, I don't know. A guess?” “Kit, number twelve?” Mr D called. She stared at the other girl in amazement, then looked down at the notebook and read the answer the other girl had written. “Correct,” Mr D said. Kit looked back at Marie. Then she gave a small smile. The small Filipino girl was a creature of magic in hiding. “I get it. I'm a bit like you.” She glanced up at their teacher. “Can I sit with you during lunch?” Marie and Kit didn't have many friends, so Kit hoped Marie wouldn't have cause to excuse herself from it. Marie just nodded and kept her head down the rest of class.

To Whom It May Concern (in other words, HEY YOU! *waves*), Hi. I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Kit. It's not my full name, or my real name, but it will do. I learned long ago that names have power, especially true names. She who knows your true name has power over you. Or he. Or they. Here, let's make this easier. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time, a little baby was born into the world. “Mi princesa” her abuela has called her since long before she could remember. She was born a long ways away from where she is now. When she reached the age of six years and two months, the princess was taken far from her home, along with her family She moved in with her abuela, being tricked into sharing her sleeping quarters with both her little siblings; the prince and the precious sorceress. Years later, when she had finally learned the way of this new palace, she was torn away again, this time in a castle of her own, still with her family. A year later, her father the king fought with a sorcerer and lost his eyesight in the process. Not one for taking an eye in payment, he let the troubles settle and adapted to his new way of life. The Queen too picked a bone with the same sorcerer and was cursed with chronic pain. She could not work, could not protect her kingdom. Desperate, she sought counsel with the High Fae of the continent. They provided her a gift of goodwill in the hopes that she would help them, a remedy to cure all aches. She took the tonic they offered her, and within days the curse was broken. She offered her husband the tonic, too, but when it was tried and failed, he accepted his fate. The princess saw all this happen in the kingdom, and began to tell the nobles' daughters she knew all that had happened. Very quickly news of the magical cure spread across the continent. Enraged that men and women still seated on their high horses would come to them to demand the cure, the High Fae vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. When the dust settled in the kingdom, the princess slowly but surely began to emerge from her isolation again, and befriended the serving girls, having seen the true demanding nature the noblemens' daughters possessed. The serving girls proved to be true friends. The group of eight friends (the blacksmith's daughter, the kitchen maid, the jester's twins, the court musician, the lady in waiting who knew some domestic magic, and the apprentice to the court scribe) proved to be a tight pack to run with, but run did that princess. Along with the girls, a few men did occasionally join the friends: a knight who was secretly courting the blacksmith's daughter (it couldn't have been more obvious), a traveling bard who took the opportunity to visit the kingdom as often as he could, two brothers who were somehow related to the family of jesters, and a man who caused more trouble with one of the twins than he did good. Of course, they didn't run with the pack, but they did cross paths with them often enough to warrant a mention. The princess was the greatest of friends with the scribe's apprentice and the blacksmith's daughter. The two girls taught her a great many things. The blacksmith's daughter taught her confidence, stubbornness, self defense, and passion. The apprentice taught her peace, control, silence, and the simple state of being. Both taught her wisdom and showed her what outside life was really like. That there, is a metaphor for my past. It is how I like to see the world, through a lens of magic and fairytale. Now, let's try again. Hi. My name is Kit. I won't tell you my full name, but I may tell you what I am. I am... me. I am a selfish, artistic, creative, silent, observant, tired, Latina teen who has a habit of stress-eating, terrible relatives, and better friends than I really deserve. And yet I have it all. Everything in my past and present shapes me into the woman I am tomorrow, and next week, and next month, and in 30 years. This blog is about me. It is going to be an explosion of little short stories about my favorite original characters, rants about the injustices in my life, journal entries or blog prompts, random stories about fun or stupid things I've done and just an overall diary that I'm releasing into the internet void for complete strangers to read and judge silently. And I have to say: I'm freaking terrified. What if this is never found? What if I'm literally screaming about myself into this void and it stays floating there, unappreciated? What if I decide I can't do this? What if... what if... what if...? You know what, I'll stop. I have to believe that someday, whether it's ten minutes after I post this or ten years after that someone will find this. Someone will appreciate this. And someone will love who I am. I'm tired of being a chameleon all the time. I'm tired of never being me. This is who I am. This is Kit, because I won't scream my real name into the abyss. But this is still me. From, Kit🖊