"My love-he reads me like a book... It is hard for me to believe that it has been two hundred years since we met... two hundred years since he changed me life in a way I never thought possible. Even now, he can see the disbelief in my eyes when he says I am beautiful. He is the only one able to convince me-even if it is only temporarily- that I am wrong... but I am not. He is the one who is beautiful. I, on the other hand, was created to be plain...

In my homeland, the kingdom of Laven, the people are expected to abide by strict rules. They are bred to be in certain jobs, expected to faithfully carry out their duties without complaint or faltering... I was raised to be a scribbler; all day long, I was left in a dimly lit room with ten feet of parchment and ,along with five other people, made to copy the word of the king. Yes, I spent long hours crouched on a cold stone floor with my quill, copying countless laws, news bulletins, and the occasional poster to proclaim a tax rise over and over again.

There were about fifteen rooms lined up on the inside of the Castle library, all holding five scribblers each. Mine was the second to last on the right, just behind the aisle holding the fantasy section. The visitors in the library would laugh at us when we finally came out at the end of the day and I suppose it may have been an odd sight. Seventy-five people, all dressed in the same plain, ragged brown clothes, covered in ink splotches, all with similar black hair and brown eyes. We were marched in four straight lines down into a small area branching off from the dungeons and locked in for the night. After all, scribblers are only one step up from being slaves.

Small blankets were laid on the stone floor for each of us. It was our choice to decide whether we preferred to cover ourselves with the blanket and curl up on the cold floor, or lay on the blanket and shiver through the night as the chill seeps into our bones. I usually chose the cover myself, attempting to look as unnoticeable as possible... I knew the guards would soon come and call me from my "bed". Scribblers were whipped for mistakes found in their copies and I always had a smudge or two on mine. Apparently, being born and raised had not been enough to perfect my skills. At least the guards were kind enough not to strike so hard as to scar me.

... I was sixteen when I first saw him, though I paid him no mind then. It was the first day of a new month and I had just been paid. The scribblers had been let out for their day of freedom, so we could go into the village and buy small treats for ourselves. I saw him at the market. He was staring at me."

Nieni: blinks the next chapter won't be in first person. I don't know why THIS one is in first person, but I couldn't write it any other way.

Nite:

Nieni: ANYWAYS- I hopes yew likes and hopefully it will be better in the next chappy!

Nite: Ya-ya! dive-tackles a paper cup