Lately, Warren's back has been giving him nothing but trouble; constantly itchy, achy and just plain uncomfortable. He asked his mother to look at his back to tell him if there was a rash, but she couldn't be bothered to do something so mundaneas take care of her only child. Naturally, she turned over this task to one of the maids.

When Sheila came in to do Elise Worthington's task, Warren had shyly said not to worry. It had taken care of itself. Sheila looked doubtful, but Warren flashed her a grateful smile and told her not to worry. The maid nodded, satisfied that she had done what Elise wanted and left Warren's room, leaving the teenager to brood again.

Warren looked out over the city, unconsciously scratching his back again. He watched the tiny people on the sidewalks, wondering if he could trade his life for theirs. Warren shook his head. No matter how much money the Worthingtons had, he would not inflict the amount of anxiety, fear, pretenses and sheer boredom on someone undeserving.

Those people deserve to be happy, Warren thought.

A fluttering movement caught his attention as a rare white dove flew into his view. Now, I could be a bird, Warren thought. I wouldn't have any worries as a bird. I would be able to fly away from them and be happy.

Happiness, that's all I want.