Scylla: 

The branches of a nearby bush rustle quietly. Moments later, a sleek, lithe black cat slips out, a mouse between her jaws.

Her housefolk calls her name, but she merely waves her tail in response. She darts around the bush, dashing into the forest.

Her housefolk calls again, crashing into the brush. She runs off, faster and faster, until it looks like she's flying. Suddenly, raven-black wings spring from her shoulder blades. She pumps them, gliding up into the trees where she cannot be seen.

She swoops down onto a branch, hunkering down. She sets the mouse down, rippping it open, licking her lips in anticiapation. Then she freezes at the sound of her housefolk getting louder. She squints, as if focusing on something, and then suddenly, her wings vanish. 

Ballet:

The train pulls to a stop at the station, it's gears grinding loudly. A girl comes off, her head held high. Her golden-blond hair is swept up into a bun, and she's wearing a school suit. She clutches a cat basket in one hand, a leather-bound book in the other.

Her knuckles are pale white as she strides forward to her trunk, a strange look of fear on her face. She sits down on the trunk, exhaling deeply. A shaky breath comes out, and she sets the book down. 

A loud cracking noise comes from nearby. In one swift motion, she's standing up, cat basket down, and a wand in her hand. She looks around, the expression of fear growing. Her breathing quickens, but she does nothing. 

CL, I'll do you later! 

Ever since I found the avatar creator, I've been making pictures nonstop.

Here is balletandbow! 

balletandbow: Crickets chirp, and the silvery moon sends its soft glow down to the carpet of leaves and grass. All is still, except for the movement of a silhouette behind a tree. The silhouette steps out. It is a small girl, a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder. It's hard to see in the dark night, but she elegantly, softly glides like a dancer. Her head turns to the left, and a bun can be made out in her light hair. Silently taking her bow out, she pulls the bow into a graceful arc and shoots. The quiet whoosh of her arrow can be heard in the stillness of the night. She watches, satisfied.

The girl has hit her mark. 

Umm, here's my story's prolouge.

Ashwing

Prologue- The Baby

There’s got to be some logical explanation for this. Some medical condition, some genetic irregularity, something! Some scientific reason why my daughter has wings. Wings. They’re jutting out of her back, with dark turquoise feathers- almost the exact color of my fins. Oh, Oaksplash, why doesn’t she have fins! I search my mind for some reason why, why in Wave Sprout! But there’s no reason. No logics, science, anything. I hold her in my arms-she has her father’s eyes-moss green, with almost my same shade of hair-amber. And the thought comes back to me, one that I’ve been trying to dismiss ever since I saw the wings. Because my daughter, Annalee Puddletrunk, is not one of those Ashwings.

And now, my friends, is the time to give FEEDBACK!!! Be honest! Would you read this?

@Ballet &Bow

This is a sort of random place to put this but I love that (Ballet & Bow I mean ) I love Ballet for one thing and it just sounds neat .

GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS!!!!! Save me the 777th comment!!! Please!!!