She was awakened the next morning by sun shining in through the large window next to her cot, glaring brilliantly across her eyelids. She squinted towards the window tiredly; someone had forgotten to close the shutters. Sighing, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, only to find everyone else sleeping. Surely it couldn't be much later than seven o'clock; the others wouldn't be awake for three hours, at the very least. Doing her best to be quiet, she rose from her pallet, tiptoeing over to the window and closing the shutters. That done, she began to dig through her bookbag, looking for the dress she kept at the very bottom.

No one else knew about this dress, the beautiful dress that her mother had made for her just before she had died. Meg wore it whenever she could find the slightest excuse, and no matter how old she got, it always fit her as perfectly as it had when it was first made. It was rather like the dress she had described Lady Bethany as wearing: made of light blue satin, it had Celtic knots embroidered on it in a light blue thread that was so light it seemed almost white. The sleeves were something white and soft and very sheer, and she also had a length of gold cord intended to be looped about the waist when the dress was being worn.

If any of the others ever discovered her beautiful dress, they would tear it to shreds just for the sake of being mean. Branwyn and Melissa would hold back, but the other three would maliciously rip it apart; she knew they would, for they had done the exact same thing with the books they knew she had loved so. She also knew she wouldn't be able to bear that; it was the only thing she had now to remind her of her parents, and one of the few things she still possessed that she honestly cared about. Naturally, she was extremely careful to keep its existence a secret from everyone else, even Branwyn and Melissa.

Now, she took it from the bag, as well as her hairbrush, toothbrush, and comb. Making her way to the one small bathroom the orphanage contained, she closed the door behind her and turned on the light, wincing as the roaches scattered. Setting her other possessions down on the dirt-encrusted corner of the sink, she took out her toothbrush and brushed her teeth thoroughly.

That done, she locked the door and stripped of her earlier clothes. Shivering with the chill of the cold tiled floor, she picked up the dress, slipping it on over her head and trying the golden cord about her waist. That done, she began to work the brush through her annoyingly plain and frizzy brown hair.

Hair brushed, she tied it back in a ponytail, then managed to braid it. It didn't look anywhere near as neat as it could have, but oh well; it wasn't like she was likely to meet anyone out in the forest where she was going. Surveying herself critically in the mirror, she had a moment's heartfelt wish that she could do something about her glasses and the plainness of the rest of her appearance. She had tried, numerous times, but contact lenses bothered her eyes, and her hair refused to do anything she wanted it to.

Gazing woefully at her reflection, hazel eyes wide in the dirt-stained mirror, she at last heaved a sigh and nodded at herself. She still wasn't pretty; there wasn't anything she could ever do to change that. But at least she looked half-decent now.

Emerging from the bathroom, she tiptoed carefully over the sleeping forms of the others. She had to pause for a moment as Paul and Betsy, disgustingly twined about each other as usual, stirred in their sleep. They didn't wake, thankfully, although she had another moment's scare when a loose floorboard creaked as she stepped on it. Nobody woke then either, so she continued, at last making her way to the orphanage and stepping outside, into the crisp chill and disgustingly polluted autumn air of downtown Atlanta, Georgia.

One wouldn't expect to find a forest this largely overgrown within a hundred miles of Atlanta, Georgia, where the small 'orphanage' sat. Such an abundance of trees, she knew from experience, was much more commonplace further away from the city, and not anything truly extraordinary. Still, one had to go almost as far as Macon, a hundred miles to the south, before they were truly out of the reaches of the city.

Yet there was no denying the fact that, if one knew where to go, there existed a large, ignored and overgrown, honest-to-God forest, not all that far from the orphanage. Meg was pretty sure she was the only one in the orphanage that knew about it; then again, maybe Branwyn knew. She had been known to disappear mysteriously for hours, with no explanation of where she had gone. Meg fully intended to keep the forest's existence a secret. It was the only place where she could go and be absolutely certain that she was, for the moment, free from Ms. Hodge's temper and the fondling of the boys.

On the times when she came out to the forest, dressed in the dress her mother had made her, she actually sometimes felt as if she were the heroine in a novel, the princess in a fairy tale. Maybe some kindly gentleman would come along to rescue her from her dreadful plight any moment, a knight in shining armor galloping through the forest on horseback swinging a sword. Maybe he would even be disfigured by a dreadful curse, and she would end up falling in love with him and breaking the spell by true love's first kiss, like in Beauty and the Beast...

Yeah, right, Meg. You're certainly no Beauty, and magic doesn't exist.

Sighing, she lowered herself delicately to the forest floor, autumn's fallen leaves crinkling under her weight. Leaning her back against a nearby tree, she sighed, wishing she could bring a book out here to read, where she knew it would be safe.

Dream on, Meg. Even if you had enough money to buy a book, you wouldn't be able to keep it a secret long enough to finish reading it.

Heaving another sigh, she let herself relax against the tree trunk; not exactly the most comfortable position she'd ever been in, but not the least comfortable either. A large 'granddaddy longlegs' spider came over to curiously investigate her; smiling, she let it climb on her hand and explore. Unlike a lot of other girls--and boys--she never had any problem with spiders, or snakes, or any other of the more common phobias. There were only three things she was afraid of--dogs, horses, and, of course, getting raped by the boys.

Small dogs never had bothered her. When she was seven, though, one of her old neighbor's German Shepherds had tried to attack her when she was out walking. The dog was really quite a gentle creature, the neighbors had said; obviously she must have done something to provoke it. All she'd been doing was walking by, but try telling them that. Ever since then, she had been terrified of any large dog, no matter how sweet and pliant they might actually be.

She was also afraid of horses. She knew in her head that most horses were gentle creatures, and the worst they were likely to hurt you was if they accidentally stepped on your foot--not that that didn't hurt like hell. Still, she couldn't help it. She was terrified of anything that was larger than her, in an almost instinctive way.

Cats, she never minded; they were her favorite animals. After all, even the largest Maine Coon cat she had ever seen was still a lot smaller than she was. She knew she'd never have more to fear from them than a scratch or two, and most of those accidental.

Thoroughly relaxed, she closed her eyes, letting herself drift off into daydreaming about the Lady Bethany's adventures. She didn't even notice when she drifted off into true sleep.

She sat atop the back of a snow-white horse, clinging to Sir Eric tir Valon's back as his valiant steed galloped off towards the castle that was her home. Her dress billowed about her, white-blonde hair blowing back in the wind. She laughed with pure adrenaline--though she loved to ride sidesaddle, never in her life had she been atop a horse going this fast.

At last they pulled into the courtyard of her castle, and she dropped off the horse, lightly landing on her feet. Her father came rushing out to meet her, wrapping her in a warm, embrace. "Hello, my little darling!" he crowed merrily. "And what mischief have you been up to, eh?"

"Not mischief, Father," she told him solemnly, tweaking the end of his nose. "Count DuTare tried to kidnap me! If it weren't for Sir Eric, I wouldn't even be alive now, I'm sure."

"Well, then," her father said, looking past her to the knight, who was dismounting from his white steed. "Shall we find a way of rewarding him, my girl?"

Sir Eric kneeled in front of the two, taking her hand romantically. "Milady Bethany, it would serve as all the reward and honor I require if you would accept my hand in marriage. If, of course, you are willing...?"

"Willing!" She laughed giddily, musical voice echoing in the courtyard walls. "I am more than willing, Sir Eric, I would be just as rewarded and honored as you!"

"Well then," her father said again, beaming and looking quite pleased with himself. "Before you two lovebirds are wedded, we simply must find out the evil mage that my brother the Count was working for..."

She woke with a start, to find herself staring into a large, wet black nose. "Eyaah!" she shrieked, trying to scramble backwards and succeeding only in painfully digging her backbone into the tree trunk.

The black nose, upon closer examination, revealed to be a big, yellow dog. It barked at her, cocking its head to one side. "Get," she croaked hoarsely, sounding more like a frog's ribbit than a command. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Get!" she yelled, pointing a finger away from her. "Go on, shoo! Go away!"

For a moment she thought the dog was going to ignore her, maybe even attack her. But after only a moment's hesitation, he turned and trotted off obediently, tail wagging merrily.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she slumped down against the tree, heart pounding from her scare. Glancing overhead, she realized with a start that the sun was almost overhead, and began to realize how long she must have slept. It must be nearly noon!

Forgetting entirely that she was dressed in an outfit she most certainly didn't want the others to discover, she hiked up her skirts and ran, bare feet making quite a ruckus on the fallen leaves.

At last making her way to the orphanage, the door was yanked open just when her hand was about to land on the doorknob. Branwyn stood in the doorway, dressed in a black T-shirt and matching pants. Her eyes widened when she saw Meg, and she glanced over her shoulder before stepping outside, carefully closing the door behind her.

"Meg, don't come back here," she whispered urgently, obviously not wanting to be overheard. "The others think you split, and you prob'ly should. Some blonde guy came here today, an' adopted Betsy. 'Twas real obvious he jus' wanted her for a sex toy, but Ms. Hodges let him adopt her anyways, she don't care. He heard 'bout you an' said he'd come back for ya, then Jack and Paul got this look on their face like they was gonna make real sure you didn' leave here a virgin. If I 'twas you, I'd run, an' fast."

Meg shook her head in silent protest. "But--Branwyn, I can't! I don't have nowhere else to live, you know that! If I leave, I'm gonna end up on the streets, and I'm gonna end up like Betsy. Maybe this place ain't much better than bein' a hooker, but I don't have much of a choice."

Branwyn shook her head. "Trust me, Meg, you ain't gonna wanna stay here. Take this." Rooting around in her pocket for a moment, she emerged with some sort of necklace, a pendant of some kind strung on a black cord. She hung it around Meg's neck, then surveyed her and nodded.

Meg tucked it into the top of her dress, so that only the cord was visible. "Good luck charm?"

The other girl shrugged. "You could say that. Jus' take it with ya, and you'll be fine. I know you don't believe in stuff like that, but I do, and I'm the one that made it."

"I still don't think--"

"Look, just trust me, 'kay? Run. You went somewhere today, obviously; go there again." She glanced over her shoulder again, then grabbed something from nearby the doorway and handed it to Meg. It proved to be her bookbag, which, judging by the added weight, was packed with her stuff.

"What about you?" Meg protested. "I know th' guys are 'fraid of you now, but what if they end up gettin' over it? An' what about Melissa?"

"Don't worry 'bout me an' Melissa, Meg. We'll both be fine." Branwyn then made further argument moot by closing the door in Meg's face.

Taking a deep breath, she considered going after the other girl and dragging her and Melissa off with her--to whatever fate might await her. Sighing, she decided that might not be a good idea, and started walking, slinging the bag over her shoulder. She was doing her best not to be angry with the other girl; Branwyn was just trying to look out for her, after all. It wasn't Branwyn's fault that her idea of looking out for her was dumping her out on the streets, with nothing but a stupid necklace to protect her.

Glancing down towards the necklace, she untucked it from her dress to examine it more closely. It looked like some kind of marble, with green and blue colors all mixed together in its depth. Meg shook her head, and sighed. Branwyn might believe in good luck charms and Wiccan crap, but Meg didn't, and she really didn't see how a necklace was going to help her much.

She looked up, realizing that her meandering feet had taken her to the forest again without her realizing it. Damn. Why couldn't Branwyn at least come with me? If Betsy is gone, the boys are gonna want someone else to use for a playtoy. Of course, Branwyn's absolutely positive she can take care of herself, and Melissa besides. I just hope she doesn't find out otherwise by having one or the other of them get raped.

Her stomach was beginning to demand food, soon; the last time she had eaten had been last afternoon, after all. She let her thoughts wander along with her feet, doing her best to not worry about where in the hell was going to get something to eat.

Damn Branwyn, anyway. Even if I had tried to stay, she would probably have picked me up and dumped me back out on my ass, that's how stubborn she is. And I go along with her, like the idiot that I am.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even see the rosebush until the thorns pricked her skin. Yelping, she pulled back, then realized just what she had run into.

A large rosebush stood in her path, filled with roses of every color imaginable, including some that roses didn't even come in, at least not as far as she knew. Standing out here in the middle of nowhere, where nobody besides Meg and possibly Branwyn ever came, looking as if someone watered and trimmed it every single day.

She stared it at. It could have been a wild rosebush, she supposed--but they didn't look like wild roses. Shouldn't they all be the same color? There were no two roses of the same color on this bush, which she had never before seen on any rosebush, wild or no. And besides, it was perfectly trimmed into a perfect shape, obviously without a single leaf ever having been allowed to run wild. Obviously taken excellent care of.

So how in the world had it ended up out here?

Shaking her head, she started to go around it, but something made her stop. Turning back, she thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Surely it couldn't hurt to pick just one rose; it wasn't likely the person who kept care of the bush would ever find her to fuss at her for it, and she had always had a weakness for roses, anyway. Reaching into the outside pocket of her bookbag, she dug for a moment, then emerged triumphantly holding a pair of scissors.

Finding the one truly red rose the bush contained, she reached out with the scissors, carefully cutting the stem. Careful of the thorns, she tucked it behind her ear, for a moment letting herself imagine she was the princess in a fairy tale, running off to seek her fortune.

Reality intruded rudely as her stomach growled, reminding her quite forcefully that she needed to find food, soon. With a depressed sigh, she started walking again, letting her feet take her where they would.

The mage sat in the center of his working room, seated atop the red velvet cushions of the wooden armchair. His face was shrouded by shadows and the hood of his blue satin robe, leaving no clue to a casual observer of gender or age. He was relaxing lazily in the chair, hands placed elegantly along the edges, the length of his sleeves effectively hiding his hands as well.

"Someone has picked one of your roses." The voice came from the darkness, an utterly indescribable and absolutely genderless voice.

The mage sighed. "Who?"

"A young girl. She runs from something, but has fallen asleep."

"Show me."

Two of the candles in the room lit into sudden life, illuminating the mirror that adorned the wall in front of his chair. Instead of reflecting his face, the mirror revealed an entirely different image, that of a young girl, curled in a ball, head resting against the bark of an oak tree.

He regarded her detachedly, considering. She was dressed in something light blue and white, something very fine, a dress the likes of which had adorned the fair beauties of his court before the curse had come upon him. Her brown hair was tied back from her face and braided, but many small tendrils had escaped as she slept, to drift into her face unnoticed. A pair of glasses perched atop her nose, and her feet were bare. There was some sort of yellow and black canvas bag slung over one shoulder, adding the only jarring note to the image of a fair courtly lady.

A single red rose was tucked over one ear, a beautiful rose of the purest red. Red the color of blood, or the color of love.

"So she picked a red rose."

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Shall I lead her here?"

He thought, considering the notion carefully. How many years had it been since someone had found his rosebush and picked any color rose, much less a red one? Red had always been his personal favorite color of rose; then again, it was also the color of the flower that had led to his downfall.

At last he spoke, a single word to break the silence.

"Yes."