Beloved
Song: None
Dr. Martinez
My daughter. I remember the doctors at the school telling me that she'd been mutated. I'd been horrified, until I saw her. Her brown hair then had large, glossy curls and she had a pudgy, dimpled face.
"Oh!" I had squealed, grabbing her hand, "what's her name?"
Jeb Batchelder, her father, smiled at me.
"Well, the name on record right now is Lydia." he answered. Lydia giggled, flapping her little brownish wings. My smile was dropped.
"Wings?" I asked, steely calm. Jeb shoved Lydia to a room offside the hall. He led me to the window, and I gasped at what I saw. A padded, white room with three winged kids playing. One was sitting in the corner, obsidian eyes glittering fearfully. One had bright blue eyes, and was laughing with Lydia. They were holding hands and playing. The kid in the corner, who Jeb introduced as Peter, jumped up from his position and pulled the other boy (Nat, he said)'s fingers off of Lydia's hand then returned to the corner. Nat and Lydia looked aroung puzzled, then continued playing, hands separate. My beloved daughter.
Grow.
Grow strong and rebel and live and breathe and love and hate.
Do everything you can.
Because you probably won't have long.