Your entire life felt protected. Everything went your way so much so you were called lady luck. Most assumed it was just that, luck, but you knew better you felt him every day since you were a little girl growing up as a farmer's daughter in the harsh kingdom. Finally the night before your eighteenth birthday you sat away fearing the men who might approach your father tomorrow asking for your hand, you were beautiful more than most in the slumps of your city, your father said your mother was just as beautiful, almost like an angel, but she vanished after your birth. Finally midnight, now eighteen, you were able to blow out your bedside candle, a silent happy birthday to yourself, but you heard flapping like a bird but big, very big, so you lifted your blankets to cover yourself and then your candle to the window just as a tall man, muscular more than any man you know, blond, blue eyes but most shocking two big white wings.