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🖊