Her eyes had always been big and blue. Bright, electric blue, with strange flower shaped pupils and stubby white lashes that ended in silver. And she didn't have eyebrows like everybody else, so her forehead was bare and pale and wrinkled when she was upset. And her eyes shone when she was excited, literally shone, they lit up and glowed even when not in the dark. And the girls in her class had always made fun of them. So she spelled their mouths shut.

Her hair had always been horse hair white, and both hard and soft, straw textured and silky. And as she grew older it started to form first feathery clumps, and then to stick up in spikes that ran from the nape of her neck to her pale forehead, until it all stuck back like a Normals mohawk. And it perked up when she was happy, and dropped when she was sad. And the boys in her class always made fun of it. So she spelled their feet to the floor.

Her body had always been too long, too thin, too bendy, too silvery, purpley, bluey pale. And he had too many joints in her arms and too many knuckles in her fingers, and her wings twitched too much and showered every thing in shimmery gold dust that made people smile and sneeze. And even when she went out under spells to change her eyes and hair and hide her wings, she still got stares. So she spelled the onlookers to get distracted, so that they wouldn't notice the gold dust and start smiling and sneezing.

And her mind had always worked wrong, never properly. She felt things crawling up her legs and under her skin, felt shocks that made her jolt and jerk, heard soft and sibilant voices whispering in her sharp-as-a-knife ears and telling her what would happen soon. She felt like a seer, always knowing what would happen, but everyone else thought she was only insane. So she spelled herself deaf and missed the voices so much thatshe unspelled herself to hear them again.

And her parents always told her it was the pixie in her and to just calm down, and her teachers always treated her funny. Yet she never did anything to them because the voices always told her not to harm her parents or her teachers.

And her magic was always cracked and fractured, so that she couldn't cast little helpful spells, only big and destructive. Knocking down doors and summoning water, making people dance uncontrollably and metal heat until white hot. So when she found a spell she couldn't sing in her schoolbooks, she just spelled them afire and regretted it so much later she cried to the voices to fix her.

And they never did.

And when she had finally spelled too many things aflame, they threw her into a dark place, and they took her wand and jewelry away.

And her cell in the dark place called Azkaban was always cold, but she didn't have a wand, so she couldn't spell it warm.

And she was always crying.

Until a cloud named Elizabetha came and spelled her warm again.

And Elizabetha always, always, always... understood.

xXx

There you go! A bit about Nettle! She's one of my favorite characters to write, despite the fact that's she's also hard to write. Or, like, near impossible. But I usually liek how it turns out.

Anyhow, please review, thank you for reading this little thing, and byeeeee!