Chapter 1

Once upon a time...

Why does that sound weird? I'll just start again.

It was a dark and stormy night. And...

But it's sunny and noon! So, no.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Nope. That's Star Wars.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

YES! Finally! Wait, not again. Damn you, Jane Austen.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive were happy to say they were perfectly normal thank you very much.

Shoot. That's Harry Potter.

Why are beginnings so difficult? All the good ones are taken. So I guess a good ol'-fashioned, simple introduction will have to do.

My name is Cassandra Doran. You're never going to believe me. Trust me when I say that. No one ever believes me.

I suppose the "no one ever believes me" is my own fault. As a child, I loved to tell stories. I would make up silly tales of bears in the woods, creepy men in the park, and monsters under my bed. After a time, people stopped believing me. I was "calling wolf" as my parents scolded me. All I wanted was to be listened to.

I couldn't help it! I have an overactive imagination. I was, I am, a natural storyteller. The problem was, the problem still is, that I never had an outlet for my stories. I'm an only child. After years of making up stories about monsters, ghosts, ghouls, and other scary things, not many children around wanted to play with me. I begged for friends on the playground. I tried being friendly with the girls in my elementary class. They just laughed at me. Or they politely turned me down. Kids are mean, but some are mean with impeccable manners. My games were always the best. I just shrug it off now. I have friends, I promise. My friends now are the best. But back then, I was that crazy little girl playing on the swings with my imaginary friends.

Reading became my solace. I would read in the car, on the driveway, on the swings, late at night under the covers, and in school when I was finished with my work. I gobbled up books like most children gobble up sweets. I didn't need candy -- I needed fiction.

I longed to be the heroine of my own story. I wanted to rescue the Prince, and also be rescued by him, too. I wanted to meet witches (both good and bad), dragons (I kind of wanted my own), elves, talking animals (especially Mr. Tumnus!), beasts, and any kind of magical creature I could lay my eyes on. To me, our world was too boring, too predictable. I had met good guys, seen bad guys on TV, and had acquainted myself with all the animals around my home. I wanted more. I wanted to get out of there.

My parents were not the adventurous types. They preferred the quietness of our small, New England town. My father, an accountant, craved order, and routine. A smart man, numbers, and their patterns comforted him. He stayed close to home, favoring the state college in our town over the traveling even an hour away. He's a handsome man, with soft brown eyes, and dark hair streaked with gray. He always made time to listen to my crazy tales and my re-workings of known stories. My mother owned local coffee shop owner. Her shop was a comfort to our town, a place of community and warmth. She held karaoke nights, poetry slams, and knitting nights. The townsfolk preferred the comfort of her shop to the Starbucks that tried to take over. The Starbucks lasted a year.

On the other hand, we never really went anywhere. Our "vacations" were to New York City once a year to see a show and walk around. It was always during Christmas Break at school; we would get hot chocolate, ice skate, and see the tree. There were a couple of times where I went on vacation during Spring Break with my friends to Orlando. Those trips were awesome. Of course my parents never thought it was a good idea. Sending a bunch of 18-year-olds to Florida for a long weekend was equitable with foreign prison and bad tattoos.

I do cherish all those trips. I wanted, I want more. I wanted (want) to see the places in my textbooks. Mount Rushmore. Westminster Abbey. The Grand Canyon. The Coliseum. The Great Wall of China.

So I just kept reading. Reading allowed me to visit those places, and places that didn't exist. I got to travel from the comfort of my own bedroom, in my pjs, with a cup of tea. It worked for a while, but it always left me dissatisfied.

I wished upon falling stars, the North Star, the "second star to the right," dandelions, wishbones, eyelashes, and any thing that could possibly have wish-granting powers. I am a superstitious person. I wished for adventure. Romance. Travel.

I wanted to be a hero.

And once, I wished that people would believe me.

Unfortunately, none of my wishes ever came true.