She bit down on her tongue, taking the only relief she could find in the blood that her pearly teeth drew forth, its metallic bite mirroring her own. The wind, angry with her recklessness, smacked her in the face with menacing blows, worse because it was from a well known yet an invisible opponent. The night air clutched at her breast, had her heartbeat racing far too quickly for comfort…. Had comfort been what she was seeking, she would have then stopped, but she sought such trivialities no longer. This was what she was looking for; that excitement that seemed almost to numb her pain, her emotions, the almost unbearable heaviness of a burden given her. She could feel that tension rising up in her throat, in her eyes, threatening to finally abandon the precarious tipping, to succumb at last and spill over, onto her breasts. She lunged to the side of the road, and sat there, inhaling what had been so momentarily lost, and exhaling the numbness that had for a blinding instant taken over, shocking herself with the pounding of her veins, like drums echoing down the narrow corridors of her body. When at last the curtain parted, in the form of a cloud heavy with anguish, a lone beam of pale moonlight shone its night lamp on her face.

In that moment you could read a thousand words writ upon her face, their bumbling harmonies tripping through her eyelashes, stumbling through a maze of light freckles, each afraid that their meaning be lost beneath her shrill cry and the fog beneath her tears. With one final piercing note all sounds ceased, the wind quit its pummelling fists, and everything grew quite still. In that one moment, as yet the one defining moment in her terribly short lifetime, she gripped her sanity with a slippery grasp and gazed out at the crossroad she had mistakenly stopped at. "…'an neath the monlight she buried her winsome face in two trembling hands, so that none would dare read the story she held in her eyes, hear against her sighs the swallowed words down her aching throat..."

Two brown eyes, belonging to a certain Rachel Sullivan whose soul held a fire that melted the chocolate of them into a sensuous liquid color, bore down on her with a look of contempt. Spell's own eyes twinkled in a delightful response, revelling in the dramatic moment they were creating with their old-as-time eye lock, unbeknownst to the others. Rachel, Ray for short, looked especially lovely tonight, of course, as she always did. Thanks to a recent trip to the salon Panache, her usually wild woman hair was tamed and mussed in a purposeful 'just got done having wild, sweaty sex' kind of way, and highlighted with alternating shades of darker brunette shades and natural red highlights, that brought her lovely brown eyes to attention. Her dangling gold egyptian earrings sparkled in the light of flickering candles and electric lights, in a way that only someone extremely stoned is able to distinguish. Her long limbs were tangled with Spell's best friend and brother, Benjamin; or as they liked to call him, Spot...which was odd, because Rachel had been dating Race for 2 years... such was what alcohol did to teenagers.

Next to Spot was Race, fumbling with a cigar. Spell smiled at him and as if sensing her gaze he looked up, and she was startled at the tumult of emotions in his eyes before he quickly looked down. She shook it off, putting it down to the beer and drugs. Strewn about the room haphazardly were about 10 other teenage bodies, curled into eachother, each indistinguishable in the shadows. Spell frowned, suddenly envious of Ray's lovely ivory skin, and clear face, with no freckles or markings or scars. She sighed inwardly, angry with herself for being so vain. She may be a teenage girl, but it was just not a good enough excuse. Ray was one of Spell's best friends, and the look of contempt being thrown her way was due to Ray losing their game of poker. Of course, Spell's own attack of sparkling eyes wouldn't have been common in a live-or-die duel, but neither was she a common person. That, she had learned, people could tell within the first minute of meeting her. She had no idea what they were talking about, of course.

Concentrate, Spell, Damn it! Trying to throw herself into the game she looked down at her royal flush and changed her expression neither with the cock of an eyebrow or the twitch of a smile. But her eyes… she glanced above Ray's head at a mirror suspended on a retro purple wall, covered with a collage of all sorts of FolioWeekly and Pink Floyd albums, and looked at herself offhandedly. She hadn't exactly tried to look her best tonight, since there had been no one in particular to impress… Yet. Her long hair, meeting the middle of her back, was a natural shade of champagne blonde, much to the envy of her cohorts. When asked about it by classmates and the occasional hair stylist, she suggested it might have been the fact that she had grown up in Florida, and had spent much of her time out of doors, playing in the surf and sand. Thanks to a good stylist her friend had dragged her to last summer, she had a nice haircut that framed her face but didn't hide it, with swoop bangs which she had cut herself again last night, because they had become ridiculously emo and long, and long layers that suited her well. The only concession to make up she had used tonight was some of her favorite Maybelline Mascara in Brown, and a hint of BonneBelle lipgloss that made her cupid's bow lips look juicy and tempting and tasted good too!. Her features were classic 'Grace Kelly, but softer' she had been told by some, and she liked to believe it. Vintage Hollywood was her time. Her cheekbones were lovely, and rarely did she use blush to get the healthy flush on them, or powder to cover the spattering of light freckles on her straight nose. Then, of course, there were her lovely large eyes. They had gone from blue, to green, to grey, and even violet, to a handsome and alluring shade of blue and green. They were hardly normal eyes, though. A sun with long golden fingers, touched with all its yellow limbs each and every color in her unique rainbowl, a sky of azure blue surrounded the sun, while a pool of green held her large black pupils in comfort.

She had long ago been told, by a travelling gypsy, that those who looked into her eyes 'held her thoughts in their hands'. With the thought of the gypsy, and the words she had said, Spell sucked on the mere roach of a joint she had left and let her stoned mind wander…

That night, she had been with her friends, when they were about 13 probably. They had all heard of the old fashioned gypsies camped out in the large oak forest, but only Spell had been brave enough to take the dare to approach them and have her fortune told. She had hesitantly knocked on the carriage door, her heart beating wildly, while her eyes traced every color on the caravan's old design the paint chipped and worn by storms and age. After a moment that lasted an eternity a woman had opened the door to her, her thick black hair tied back with a red ribbon and her skin the color of caramel. She had been wearing a long skirt of simple, white cotton, and an off the shoulders peasent top cropped to her arms and a spattering of red and yellow flowers. 'Come, come' She had been ushered into a larger room than she had imagined, covered with throw pillows and persian rugs. The lovely gypsy went into another part of the caravan, leaving Spell standing there, sniffing the remnants of something left in the air. It didn't smell entirely bad, but she had a feeling it was illegal. The tall hookah in the corner made her somwhat uneasy, though at that young age she didn't yet know what they were…exactly. She had a good feeling though.

There were paintings on every wall, brilliant and beautiful, and waiting there Spell had been drawn to one in particular. It was of two woman, with wings, holding eachother and dancing on the stars. Something about the painting pricked Spell's memory and her eyes were awash with tears at the majesty of it all, and the sadness of her motherlessness. Had she had a mother of her own, she would have bought her this painting, though she wasn't sure why. The smaller one in the painting, the daughter she assumed, was golden colored and had long flowing hair, her mouth open in a shout of glee. The mother held her daughter's hands, their legs kicking up stardust, her body the true pale color of moonlight, her hair white silver, and her eyes a startling familiar shade of blue. She reached out to touch the painting when she noticed the daughter's eyes… they were green, gold, and blue, all at once, like her own eyes… She leaned so close to the painting her nose was almost touching it, as if just by getting closer she could solve a mystery. The little girl winked at her. Spell yelped and tumbled backward, straight into the wise gypsy woman.

'Hello little one. I didn't expect you to come so soon.' Her accented voice, thick with wisdom, soothed her fears again. 'Do you know me?' The elder gypsy, had asked at once. Spell had shook her head sadly, as if she knew she was giving the wrong answer but could not prevent it.

'Am I supposed to?' she asked, generally curious.

The woman laughed, her wizened face breaking into a smile. 'No. Not yet, I suppose. But I know you.' Spell blinked slowly, trying to grasp the woman's words; her own spine shivered with awareness at the reality of the woman's status. 'I knew your mother. Once.'

'My mother?' The little girl had asked with a shuddering breath.

'Yes. I know… about her… disappearance. This, it saddens me, but I, I told her twould happen. And you, no more than a baby…' The gypsy sighed, taking a delicate sip of her tea, the steam curling like transparent silver chains, around her lips. Lock your lips. The smell of sage overwhelmed her as did these words. What did she mean, she had known? How…
'You are young, and brave for coming here. You probably did it on accident, but fate is many times accidental. No protesting. No questions. I understand you want to know about your mother, not about your future but her past.' She cocked her head 'It has always been the past to interest you, yes?' The younger could do little else but nod. 'Very well. Please, another log on the fire if you will, child. My knees become to old to take the pain that it takes. Ah, thank you, my old bones grow cold quickly these days.'Spell had gotten down, taking her precious time, so the woman would tell all. When only silence met her, she turned back to see the gypsy woman staring, tears leaking out of her eyes. 'So much like your mother.'

Spell had gone to the woman, kneeled at her feet, and taken her two small, wrinkled hands, in her own untarnished large ones. The woman looked up in surprise, as if she'd lacked for such touch in so long, and the little girl felt her own heart touched at the salty tears caught in the crevices of the woman's face. 'Please. Tell me about my mother.'

The gypsy woman nodded, reaching for a wood pipe and lighting it with the flame of a candle, exhaling on a shaky breath. 'Very well…' a wolf howled into the darkness, but nothing could deter either of them in that sullen moment. 'Your mother, she was beautiful, like you are going to be someday. We met years and years ago. I found your mother knocking on death's door, pale and beautiful, in the middle of a backroad somewhere in Europe. I can't remember exactly where, but I was much younger than I am now. I was growing up with all my older brothers and my grandmother, who had little time to spare for me… so the thought of someone my age, and a girl, excited me beyond all measure. At first I feared we would not take her in, but when my grandmother was called forth… I do not know to this day what swayed her, but she would not back down. Her and my father argued and argued, but my grandmother won out.

'For days she couldn't get out of bed, and my grandmother made her my responsibility, retreating further into herself, mumbling incantations, reading and re-reading the tarot, always shouting in desbelief 'but this can not be, but this can not be!' I watched over your mother, who had yet to waken, and I spoke to her. I spoke to her about my dreams to see the world, and more. To find a way to fly. My dream to paint.' The gypsy smiled whimsically 'Such an old dream, but alas, old dreams never do extinguish. When your mother finally awoke it was when I was singing an old song I had picked up somewhere in Wales. The moon was a mere sliver in the sky, but within the first verse she awoke, sitting straight up, demanding of me where I had learned of that song. Over and over she asked me, and I sat there in fear, staring her straight in the eyes…' her eyes darkened 'they were an unnatural, untarnished, crystal blue. All I could think to do was hold her, and sing some other song, something less emotional for her. So that is what I did, until she collapsed in my arms and tears spilled forth.

I knew something was wrong when she touched her face in wonder and clutched her beating heart as if it were some peril to her… I am not from here, I am not from here, she insisted over and over. I asked her where she was from, and she could only cry… in truth it disturbed me greatly. So I asked her a simpler question, what her name was. She mumbled something, and I only heard her sigh the name Annwn. Eventually, she withdrew from her ball and asked me who I was, where they had found her, and exactly what I was.

'After that, she seemed rather resigned, and always looked out longingly to the sunset…'

'What…did she look like?' Spell asked tentatively, having only a very hazy image of her mother in her head.
The gypsy's arched eyebrows furrowed.

'As I said, beautiful. The boys in every village we passed would always request an audience with the fair and beautiful Ann, which at that time of my life made me very jealous. She turned away all her suitors though, and retreated to her room the whole day long. Ah, yes, but what she looked like was the question, not the question of a temporary envy…' she tapped a finger to her lips in speculation. 'She was always very dainty; thin. She was quite small, too. She had skin like… like cream, I suppose, and its texture was of rose petals. She had large eyes, like yours, but only they were that startling blue that set her apart. High cheekbones, a small plump mouth, unlike yours, which will be wide and full and beautiful… and her hair… when first we met her it was silver, and as the days on the carvan progressed, it became like the yellow of butter, with always those lovely silver streaks which I so used to envy. She never seemed quite happy though. Always in her smile, there was a sadness that so hurt to see it killed me, but when I asked her why she would not answer… she was a good friend. We'd sit for hours and talk, and when at last I made the descent to womanhood and suitors were asking about me… don't look so surprised, I may be older now, but I was once young and lovely, like my daughter Isabelle, the one who let you in.'

Spell imagined the lovely woman at the door and then imagined the woman sitting before her, and she was able to mesh the two perfectly. She nodded, asking her to go on with her eager eyes. 'When did she meet my father?'

'As I recall, she met him one day in Ireland. It was one of the days she wanted to be alone, so I was not with her, and she travelled to the seashore to sing. A young sailor found her there, and stopped, entranced by her lovely voice. When she turned around and saw him, they knew no one else would ever do, and they eloped a few days later.' She stopped, looked at the girl, and went on. 'They were very happy, you do understand that? There was always just that… longing in her heart that she could never account for. She used to write me letters with tears in her eyes about it, always remembering the bond we created in those years together, grateful for me and our friendship. Which is why her disappearance was such a surprise. I don't think she left because of your father's… death. I don't know when, or how, or why, or where, but the questions have aged me beond years, and still there are no answers. But little one, you know this. Your eyes…' she had said reverently, with a mere touch of awe, 'They are like the fae… and so are you. I can see it in your blood, little one. Your wings folded by the menacing disbelief of our own narrow minds… But I see that you trust in the words I am saying, though they bring you fear. You shall learn more yourself, lovely fae. Your mother disappeared when you were quite young, and your father, you were told, died in battle. Indeed they did, but not the kind of battle you might expect. Ah, my words bring confusion, but you shall soon know what I mean yourself… someday, when the moon is just so' she had waved dramatically toward a small window in the caravan, where the smell of pines and opium lingered still, and crackling bonfires snapped and cackled, where indeed the moon was high and full, a mother about to overflow with a child of moonlight.

The woman continued staring at her with eyes a darker black than the sky, with its starlight, could ever hope to achieve. 'So you, too, yearn for your nature. Little faerie. Like your…' but before the lovely gypsy woman could proceed, a sudden fierce pounding of fists on the door, and a blaze of uncontrollable fire from the chimney place had both woman fearing for their safety. The wind howled, and beneath it there had been something akin to a banshee's cry that had chilled and stopped the beating of her heart for longer than a moment. When it all had suddenly stopped, the gypsy woman had been lying on a heap in the middle of the room, her large eyes wide and her dark hair streaked with gray all atmble. 'They know you child, and want no more of my guidance given. Go now, before we both regret what actions are taken...'

The young girl had stood firm, still in a state of shock. 'But…but what about my mother? What about what I need to learn? That's why I was sent here, wasn't it?' The gypsy shook her head, her large gold earrings glinting menacingly in warning.
'No more of this, lest they come back. Seek me out when you remember your true name. Until then… go.'

"Well?"

Spell was momentarily shifted from the reverie, and transported far forward into time, a place where such dreams had no place for her. Ray looked at Spell's eyes that moment and saw that they didn't match the poker face that seemed to be frozen on her face. Spell shook away the tiny shards of the dream left to stab at her memory, and reached for the bowl her brother was holding read: bowl as in a marijuana bowl, not a cereal bowl.

"Ray Sullivan..." Spell paused for empshasis and smirked as a flicker of surprise passed across Ray's face "I do believe yer bluffin' " She announced to the clearly annoyed Rachel. Ray narrowed her eyes and fought against the corners of her mouth turning upwards. Goddamn her, Goddamn her! How the hell did she always seem to know? Ray supposed it was the actress in Spell, the one that could tug down a poker face over a giggling, slightly tipsy teenager, or on that pouty melancholy artist bit. Ray, herself, wasn't much of an actress. She prefferred a game of poker, with a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. Usually.

Ray looked across the room at Spot, who had gotten up; he turned and caught her gaze and she felt her breath catch with all that was between them, all the memories, all the ugly nasty lies and the equally passionate nights...

"Wanna bet?" Through the hazy green smoke, so thick it could be a curtain, and the boys hushed 'guy talk' all around them she could still easily seperate it all when she gazed at Spell's face and saw that wide, wise-ass smile. Spell's brother, and Ray's current boyfriend, couldn't have been any prouder if they'd been betting hundreds.

"You bet yer ass I would," She smacked down a few dollars and the sound of spilled secrets stilled. Spell knew that Ray didn't have much to stand on, and she watched in satisfaction as her friend gave up in surrender.

"Christ, Spell. I thought actresses were s'posed to live in poverty and eat beans out of a tin-can, not be slapping down a twenty dollar bill widda couple tens in yer pocket!" Ray irritatingly brushed back a wisp of curly brown hair that swayed warily in front of her face, now pink from annoyance. Spell let out a hoot and laughed a bit more. She always laughed alot when she was stoned. Not that Ray minded, for all the suffocating smoke in the room and the few beers she had, had altered her as well. Ray looked around and found that the futon was, surprisingly, empty… hmmm… ideas?

"Dija win anythin'?" Nickel wondered aloud. Her dark brown hair swaying before her eyes as she slapped away eager hands. She stifled a giggle. Her breath smelled like stale alcohol and sweet peppermint kisses. It made for an odd combination.

"Do you give a shit?" someone asked aloud. The room snickered.

"Look at us...loungin around in Skit's apartment, underage drinkin...smokin our lives away, and loving like it'll last forever, even do we'll 'forget' in da mornin... God I love bein a teenager," Nickel sighed before she rested her head against her latest boyfriend's chest, the alcohol she had drank still fogging her mind and her judgement. She placed gentle kisses on his chin and on his neck before letting him wrap his arms, and a blanket, around her. Spell felt that familiar aching in her chest, and an old memory threatening to submerge her in terror... Finding herself shivering, and realizing she needed a friend to turn to, and that the friend would certainly not be Nickel, she began to search for Ray.

"Ray?" She turned to question her brother, but found him staring longingly into the distance, and saw Ray and Race curled into eachother and giggling. She rolled her eyes; teenagers. Huffing and jerking open the foor, relieved of the pungent smell of marijuana and beer.

She sank down against the door, and thought out her problems in quiet. Alone.

'O come away o human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faerie hand in hand

For the world's more full of weeping

Than you can understand'

-W.B. Yeats