Mr. Whitfields School For The Gifted (Strange)

Sixteen had been a very bad birthday for me.

It started with the Crescent moon scar on the ball of my shoulder blade, a slight raise and scar like formation of brown discolored skin and it ended with a letter placed on my windowsill by a very finicky owl.

If it could have hissed I believe the raven colored bird would have done so, but he (I’m assuming it was a he) merely turned his neck. As I raised my window it did something even stranger, but what’s stranger than a owl setting a letter on your window sill? Strangely enough, it kicked the letter even further, under the space that I had created to receive it and he flew off.

“And a hel-lo to you too.”

The first thing I noticed as I took the letter in the cool palm of my hand was the addressee, a Mr. Whitfield.

“Mr. Whitfield?”

Who did I know by that name? It seemed odd, yet familiar as I’d heard the name or seen it written somewhere before. But the second thing I noticed was after I’d opened the letter and unfolded the parchment paper.

Isabella Stuart,

We are happy to inform you of your acceptance into our prestigious academy. Welcome to Mr. Whitfield’s School For The Gifted.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Hey all, this is just another story idea that popped up. I really should put a muzzle on this thing, but hear me out! What good is it to have all of these ideas if you don't put it down right? And this is just the prolouge...well I hope it counts as a prolouge...*shrugs*

Anywho it's one of those fantasy like stories...

Yeah...so anyways...enough of my babbling. Have an awesome day! :-)