A/N: So my other story isn't working out right now... but I was inspired to write this one instead! There will be another few updates today, and then more later.
My name is Keaira Tynan. I am seventeen years of age, but unlike most seventeen-year-olds, I am a witch. No, that doesn't mean that I'm green skinned and cackle and dance around cauldrons to the pricking of my thumbs; it just means that I can do magic.
My family is one of the oldest pureblood clans in America. We fled the witch-burnings and settled down in a remote village in New Hampshire, along with six other magical clans. But I've always believed that it was a mistake to leave Britain, a mistake to support the rebellious "patriots", and a mistake not to go back. Now, with the Dark Lord rising anew, it is the time to go back and show our support for the old ways, when Mudbloods were in their rightful place and the world knew the might of the wizarding race.
Funnily enough, my parents agreed. I still remember the scene, as if it were occurring right in front of me.
I was called into my father's study. I was wearing my favourite white corset with black ribbon facing, and my boot-cut blue jeans with the Boston wash, as well as my black suede leather boots.
My long red hair was loose about my shoulders, framing my pale skin perfectly. My green eyes were swept with mascara and a light covering of green eyeliner.
"Yes, Father?" I said, stopping a respectful distance from him. Mother was standing behind him, and it looked like she had been crying. But Mother cries about everything.
"He looked up from the morning paper he had been examining. "We've had word from the Dark Lord," he said. "We are to send you to Britain."
My heart leapt. I gasped, my heart pounding. "Britain?" I squeaked. "I'm going to... Britain?"
Father nodded gravely. "Do you still wear the ring that you were given?" He was referring to the ring that I had possessed since I was a child; it was silver, with a green pearl and a white pearl set with diamonds.
"That was a promise from the Dark Lord himself," my father said. "When you were born, it was prophesised that a child of extraordinary power and beauty had arrived. The Dark Lord has plans for you, my daughter."
Mother burst into tears again. My gaze went from my father to the ring that, even now, sat upon my finger. I was struck speechless; Britain, the Dark Lord, extraordinary powers?