Working Title: Power

Author's Note (June 7, 2009)
This story is still active, but I've kind of hit a dead end with it and I've been working on some new stuff. I also plan on editing this chapter before continuing with it. Despite that, I appreciate all reviews and comments, as well as any ideas you might have as to where the story could go. Personally, I think it has some potential, so I'm not filing it away just yet, but it's not on my list of top priorities either, unless I get a miraculous burst of inspiration!



Chapter 1

Power. It's what we humans strive for every day. Many seek power over wealth, others desire power over people, a few have even tried to gain power over death. Humans yearn for power because, even in the smallest of amounts, it gives us a sense of self-importance. It allows us to feel in control-it makes us feel invincible. In this, I am different from many of my race. I do not want riches, nor servants, or even immortality. Instead, I seek control over something that comes naturally to most, for I long for control over myself. I long to control the magic within me-the magic known as the Gift.

The Gift is not mine by choice. It is mine by birthright, my inheritance from my parents. My father was a wielder of magic, as was my mother, before she died. As their daughter, I inherited the magic with all its benefits, as well as its drawbacks. Though my father insists that I am blessed to have the Gift, there have been many times when I've wished that I could be rid of it. 

You see, this magic is not the kind you read about in fairy tales-the kind invoked by wands and rhyming spells. Real magic is an extension of its wielder. Its power and flow are directly connected to the person's emotions and desires. Only those who are able to overcome these feelings become true masters of the magic. Those who cannot become slaves to their passions, for the magic acts on our deepest wishes and desires. Anger, hatred, fear-all are able to fuel the magic, making it powerful. But without positive emotions to counteract the negative ones, the magic is wild, and the wielder becomes a danger to all those around him.

Once my father, the King, learned of my abilities, he took extensive precautions to ensure that I would be able to fully control my power. As a member of the royal household and one of the few true wielders of the Gift, I was given the best of training and instruction. Father hired a personal tutor, a man named Isaac Morcott, to teach me, and later, my younger sister, Maria, though she did not possess the Gift.

Over time, the magic within me grew to be stronger than my parents expected. Even as a child, odd things would happen around me whenever I became emotional. When I was four years old, I hated to take baths. The maids would fill up the washbasin over and over again, but whenever they brought me in, screaming and crying, the basin would be empty. I went weeks without a wash before the servants worked up the nerve to tell my mother. Being a talented magic-user herself, she was quickly able to remedy the situation.

A similar incident occurred on my sixth birthday. My parents had given me my first pony, a fat little palomino named Archie. I was ecstatic, and insisted on riding him around the pasture all day with the frantic grooms chasing after me. When my father insisted that I go to bed, I refused and attempted to ride away, Archie plodding along slowly at a steady trot. Much to the amusement of my father, the frantic stable hands chased after me for nearly half an hour before a groom was able to get close enough to us to grab the reins. When he attempted to help me down, he found that my posterior was, for lack of a better term, glued to the saddle.

Despite my previous experiences, I learned at a young age that the magic was not always fun and games. When I was eight, my father's hunters discovered a dead she-wolf in the forest. They traced her trail back to a den where they discovered a litter of four pups, which they brought back to the palace. When they reached six weeks of age, I was allowed to go down to the stables and play with them. Upon reaching the stables, a man handed me a puppy to hold. I played happily for awhile, teasing it with a stick, until the poor little thing bit me, mistaking my hand for the toy.  At that age, I didn't understand that what happened was an accident. All I knew was that my hand hurt from the bite, and that I was angry at the puppy for causing my pain. One of the grooms took me into the tack room to bandage my hand, but when we returned, three of the four puppies were dead; the last one huddled in a corner, shaking and coughing. At the sight of the pup, I burst into tears, not realizing that the magic, fueled by my anger, was causing him pain. At my insistence, we took him to the palace healer, but he was unable to help. When my mother found me crying, cradling the small animal in my arms, she took pity on me, using her own magic in attempt to heal him. My father was extremely upset when he discovered this, as there were very few studies on the use of the magic for healing.  As I realized later, my mother took a significant risk by using the Gift in that way without having prior experience.

Fortunately, my mother, with her excellent control of the magic, was able to heal the puppy, along with creating new questions about all the wonders of the Gift. It then became known that the magic could be used for healing, but to what extent, no one knew.

As for the puppy, he became my playmate, and I named him Raze. It didn't take long for me to grow extremely attached to him. Since I was member of the royal family, guards followed me around constantly, protecting me from any danger that might arise. Because of this, I had few close friends. The ones that I did have were mainly the sons and daughters of the palace servants, who were often busy helping their parents or watching over younger siblings. As a result, I spent most of my free time with Raze, roaming the palace grounds, hiding from the guards, or brushing his coarse, silver-black fur. Though Mother wasn't happy about it, Raze slept in my room every night, and in spite of her insistence that he sleep on the floor, each morning she would enter my room to find him happily curled up next to me in bed.
But as Raze grew older, it became obvious that he wasn't just an ordinary wolf. Though she saved his life, my mother's use of the magic had unexpected effects on him. The first thing we noticed was that he grew much larger than a normal wolf, reaching roughly the size of a pony. When he was fully matured, his head reached the middle of a grown man's chest, making him a formidable sight. But this was not the most disturbing side effect.

It was when I was thirteen that we realized the full consequences of Raze's exposure to the magic. By then, it became evident that, not only was he extraordinary in a physical sense, but in a mental sense as well. By using the magic on an animal, it seemed that Mother had given Raze some human characteristics. Not only was he extremely clever, even for a wolf, but he became able to understand our language as well, though he could not speak it in return. This deeply disturbed my father and his counselors. My mother had turned an animal into a sentient being, with a mind that was both human and wolf. No one had ever expected the influence of the magic to be so strong. Soon after, my father, worried about this knowledge reaching his magic-using enemies, ordered the few who knew about Raze to silence.
Because of his intelligence, Raze became the perfect confidant for me. I told him everything-my dreams, my worries, my secrets. Though he couldn't speak back, we came to understand each other, as friends do when so much time is spent together. Recognizing this, my father allowed me to roam the grounds without the guards, as Raze was intimidating enough to scare off almost anything that would pose a threat to me. It was the first time that I truly tasted freedom, and I realized how much I loved it. At that time, I didn't realize that I would soon be fighting to keep it.