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Chapter 1: Luck
Every story must have a beginning. It may not end, but it has a beginning. Mine begins as any other, I suppose. Birth. My father was so proud, watching his daughter through the glass, damp mahogany curls plastered to my head as I looked around curiously. I wasn't like other babies, so I've been told. Instead of crying, I was silent. I can still remember, my eyes flicking from place to place, person to person. It smelled fresh and sterile. My birth was a joyous occasion, my whole family came. Everyone was celebrating, clinking glasses of champagne even though it was forbidden in the hospital. Laying there, in my mother's arms, with so many people laughing and acting happy around me, I truly felt safe, secure. "Michelle, Michelle Alexandrea Davenport. Isn't she lovely, my dear?" My mother, Daniella chimed. Tears were falling from her eyes, but somehow I knew, truly knew, she was happy.
"Yes, my love, she is a treasure." My father smiled down at me. I smiled back, a small, gummy smile. And for a moment in my life, everything was perfect. But fate had other plans. People in white, starchy suits filed in the room, and took me from my warm mother. I cried out in anger, for I loved my mother, and I didn't want to leave. My eyes flicked to my father's face, creased with worry and anguish. A strong sense of wrong struck me as they put me back into the room with the glass window. What was happening? Why were they taking me away from Mommy?
A few years later, I noticed my mother was not around. One day, I finally asked my father, when he was around, anyway. He traveled a lot, because of his "job". Not that I really minded, my father killed people for a living. I want to assure you, though, my father loved me very, very much. And would never even think of harming me. I was his pride and joy, his treasure, the last thing he had of my mother. He took me into his arms and said, "Your mother is an angel, Michelle. She's always watching over you, and she's always with you, in here." My father put his hand on his heart. I placed my small, chubby hand over his strong one, and felt his heart thump against his chest. I realized then I would do anything to keep that pulse, that rhythm. That was my mother, and I didn't want her to leave me.
When I was about six years of age, I engrossed myself into the world of knowledge. Day and night, I would lay on the sofa in my father's enormous library, turning page after page, feeding my unquenchable hunger. Then, of course, I would shove the clumps of books back into their rightful slots, and ran down to meet my father at the door, if he came. If he did come, he would hug me and kiss me goodnight, give me a glass of warm milk, and send me up to bed. I'd lay there at night, racking my brain through the night's hours on the knowledge I had received through my books. Even as a young girl, I wasn't accustomed to picture books. My father didn't have any, so I didn't read any. I read lengthy novels and classic literature, hard for a young girl, you might say. You must remember, I had no experience with any other books, so I began where most people have to work up to.
As I grew older, about ten, I paid particular attention to religious literature. It took me about one month to read them all before I got sick of it. These words, trying to tell me how I must live and how I must worship? I cast it aside, after a while of contemplating it all. I wanted to see the world through my own eyes, not someone else's. After that, I discovered music. Sweet, beautiful music that engulfed my mind and soul and sent adrenaline rushing through me. I discovered it through my father's dinner parties, that everyone always attended. It was a beautiful, extravagant occasion. Everything was decorated and gleaming, the ladies wore sparkling dresses and the gentleman wore clean and fresh suits. My favorite part was the stage. The small stage that sat at the end of the ballroom. As the couples glided across the floor, I sat behind the curtain, taking in the mesmerizing melody. When I became about thirteen, I had learned to play the violin, the piano, and the bass. My father thought I was a prodigy, I was just doing what I loved.
By my sixteenth year, I discovered I had a mystical ability. If I played my instrument in front of a person, and if I concentrated hard on the emotion of the piece, I could manipulate the person through their mind. I admit, though I rather wouldn't, that I have used this for my personal pleasure. Although, I did help to lull the young children to sleep in the nursery when their mothers and fathers were at my fathers banquet. I never had any other brothers or sisters, or any people to talk to my age. And if I did, they wouldn't understand me anyway. I lived in a whole other world than anybody else. My own, secluded world. I didn't like to let anyone in. It isn't a surprise that I put the kids to sleep the first chance I got.
By the discovery of these powers, I was shipped off to the Xiaolin Temples in China, where I met my very best friend, Nina King. We met by chance, as most good friendships usually do. I leaning on a tree, sketching various flowers that circled Wuhan Lake. I was concentrating on my sketch, not particularly paying attention to my surroundings. When I looked up to observe the flower once again, I saw a blond girl, picking them. I cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
She looked up at me. "Hmm?" I observed her for a moment. She was stunningly beautiful, long blond hair with ice blue eyes. I was nothing to compare to. Me with my mahogany, curly hair with greenish-hazel eyes.
"Never mind. I am Michelle, but most call me Mitchie." I extended my hand meekly for her to shake. She smiled and gently shook it with a small hand.
"I am Nina, Nina King, pleased to meet you."
"So, Nina, what are you doing here?'
"Well, I do live here."
"That seems logical."
She chuckled a bit at that, though I wasn't trying to be funny or sarcastic. So I casually shared a small chuckle. "What are you doing here?" She asked me. I blushed a bit and hid the sketch pad behind my back.
"May I see your sketch?"
"Sketch? What sketch?"
"You know what sketch."
I blinked at her. How did she know? Was I so nervous as to give it away. I nodded a bit and gently handed her the sketch pad. "Wow. This is stunning, your very good." Nina smiled up at me. I blushed and stuttered for a moment.
"Uh... Thank you."
"Did you know that these flowers have healing abilities?"
"Really?" I sat beside her and carefully observed these 'healing flowers'.
"Yes, these are moon flowers." Nina carefully plucked one and showed it to me. "White promotes healing of body, mind and spirit at all levels; white light is a natural pain reliever, increasing and then maintaining energy levels and relieving depression and inertia. It helps bone and tooth maintenance. It dispels negativity from the body’ s energy field."
"That's interesting. I knew flowers had healing capabilities, but not specifically what healing abilities go to which."
Nina nodded understandingly. "It's a practice that you have to study. Over time it becomes natural. Would you like to learn more?" It was at that moment that our glorious friendship was born. Nina and I spent long, endless nights together, talking and debating on our different standards of knowledge. I was impressed at her knowledge of the natural world. She was impressed at my knowledge of Ancient Rome and Greece. Almost every night, we would meet at her home, sip herbal tea, and discuss things we did know, and teach each other what we didn't. We were each other's mentor and student, and through this, we shared thoughts, beliefs, deep secrets, and various other things. Never had I met a person such as Nina.
And it was because of her, that I met Him.