“Mary! Mary Brandon, you get back in this house at once!” Mother’s voice was distant, but the fact that I could still hear her was annoying.

It’s Alice! I nearly shouted back, but instead I focused my energy on running. I pushed my legs harder, my mind focused solely on my destination: the weeping willow. I could think about Mother later.

There--the willow! I sighed, stretching my hands out to the rough bark: it was comforting to my skin. I leaned against the tree, catching my breath and breathing in its familiar smell. I’d always come here when there had been trouble at home.

Without even thinking about it, I was halfway up the tree; my hands and feet knew exactly where to go. Within seconds I was on the highest branch, looking over everything.

I sighed again in relief. No one would find me here. I was safe.

It had been just one plate this time, one plate! So my fingers had slipped, big deal. If Cynthia had dropped it, Mother wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. I scowled at the though. Just because I could see things before they happened, did that make me so different? So inhuman? Because, certainly, all humans needed affection to live. But did my ability make it seem that I didn’t need any affection at all?

Maybe it was just because I was so different, so strange. Mother hated different. But was I so different? Just because I saw things and wanted to explore more than I wanted to start a family--did that make me so odd? An outcast?

Not that being an outcast was so bad--friends tied a person down so that they couldn’t leave, couldn’t move. Couldn’t explore. Which was exactly what I wanted to do.

I wanted to fly.

The Wright Brothers. The Red Baron. I wanted to fly. I wanted to set records. I wanted to see new lands. I wanted to live my life.

Why couldn’t they understand that? Why did I have to want a family? Certainly not all girls wanted a family! Was I so different?

I groaned in frustration, slamming myself back against the tree. My thoughts were going in circles; It did no good to think about my family here, anyway. This was a sacred area.

This was where I’d first seen the man. Well, soldier, really.

Honey-blonde hair, a tall stature, a broad chest, and strange, sad red eyes. I knew I should be terrified of those eyes, but there was something so desperate in them that I couldn’t help but feel a strange sympathy towards him….

My eyes closed as I daydreamed, but they shot open as I realized that the sun was setting. I cursed and rushed back down the willow, praying that I would be forgiven for the stupid plate. The incident seemed years old by the time I reached the house.