Its February 1, the seventh birthday of Marybeth, our cow and the day when things started to go wrong. There's a couple of things you need to know about good old Upper Jacks before I start, well first off, I live there. We have a lot of different things we call differently then you would in Fang Fins, like magic is called Mgic. boys are called misfits and girls are called elves. Also, it's just a little thing I thought you might need to know, but Mgic is completely, and indefinitely banned. Then there's me, I'm, well, a secret. My name is Trace Nightingale, I was born a elf/girl... but that's not what my family wanted. So they dropped me off in a nearby mine and left me there, supposedly dead. Now, there were Trolls in this mine, and they decided to take me in. But, they were to give me back to the world above. Wish me good luck in this adventure of love, loss, and betrayal. And I'll wish you luck, that you always have that keeps you 1, 2001

"BEEP! BEEP!" I growled at my alarm clock, annoyed at being woken up. "Oh well. Today is Marybeth's birthday, let's go get the cake." I complained, struggling to part myself from the bed. A loud grumble came from my stomach. "I'm sorry. I needed to sleep in." I mumbled, apologizing to my stomach for the lack of food. "Let's go ask Lostfallen if we can borrow a {nutritious} potato from the farm for breakfast." I suggest to myself as I walk out the door and into the narrow, glass staircase.

I bump into something and look up, seeing Lircrow. "Gale, you scared me." He admitted, somewhat annoyed. "I was just going to tell Tracer that I heard a loud noise from the library. And have you weed the garden." Lircrow was one of my best friends. He had straight, flaming red hair and brimming bronze eyes that looked like chestnuts if you looked close enough, which I always did. He wore a blue shirt that had three black buttons and sleeves that went to his elbows, the sleeves were covered with chocolate and emerald little squares, for some reason. His collar was highlighted with black on the edges and his dark blue jeans were teared at the knees. The pants were too big for him and they almost covered the black, leather loafer that he wore. Yet no matter how many times I told him to throw the jeans out, he would always come up with an excuse about how much he need them.