• "A soft tap came from the balcony. A small pebble of a rusty color lay upon the ivory marble. She glared at the floor, but bent over to grasp the small stone. She had always hated being rich. Always. No one treat her properly. They always addressed her as Ms. Lonizar. She hated that. Hated being the daughter of the richest man on Earth.

    But she glanced at the small pebble and smiled. It was small, not polished, and didn't look important at all. That's what she wanted. Unimportance. To be normal, or, more or less so. But she took the pebble and placed it in her coat pocket. She leaned over the balcony, looking to see where it came from.

    No one stood in the garden below. She glanced around before shrugging and heading inside. But before she did a sudden chill crawled up her spine. She whipped around to find a stunning surprise.

    A man with vast, glossy, black wings and ivory white skin stood behind her. He had feathery ebony hair, falling elegantly into his rusty copper eyes. A long black cloak of black and shimmering blue silk. His feet were bare and hardly made a sound as he stepped lightly onto balcony.

    "Katilin," he whispered at the gaping young woman. He took a small step forward, grasped her trembling hand, and pressed his cold lips to it gently..."

    Cat leaned back in the chair, placing the pencil down beside the open notebook. She sighed heavily. "I sure wish that would happen to me," she murmured to herself. A soft mew came from the charcoal kitten that had once rested on her lap, now resting on her desk beside the notebook. She smiled, running one hand through her black messy hair.

    Catherine Kitorlini wasn't rich like the character in her book. She wasn't enchanting, she wasn't fancy, nor was she her characters at all. No. She was just a young woman living in her lonesome apartment with her kitten Waxy, writing another hopeless romance novel for her few fans. Indeed, she was nothing like the Katilin Lonizar in her book.

    She glanced out the window, pulling down the black tank-top over her slim figure. She was high up in her apartment. The view was amazing, truly. She felt like she was Katilin for a moment, opening the window to feel a gentle breeze caress her pale skin. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

    Silence graced the room. It was a peaceful and relaxing thing for Cat. It helped calm her tense nerves. Being so absorbed in her writing made her sometimes forget reality. But then again, she herself had never accepted it. She gave a chuckle and turned back to her bed, getting ready to sleep.

    Suddenly, a sound came from behind her, a small . . . tap. She glanced back at the floor. There was something there, not so visible against the wood color of the floor, but she could see it. She got down on her knees and picked up the small pebble. A pebble? She looked up out her window then back at the pebble.

    The pebble was a certain . . . rusty color. She gave it a strange look and thought back to her novel. "A small pebble of a rusty color." 'Strange,' she thought, placing the small stone underneath the lamp light on her desk. A rusty colored pebble? It could just be . . . but it felt like it wasn't.

    She looked out the window a long time. She finally shook her head, saying to herself a bird must have dropped it. Finally lying down on her bed, she was just about to close her eyes for a nice long sleep when she was instantly disturbed by a heavy sound thumping against the windowsill.

    She sat up and turned to the window. She was suddenly graced with a beautiful sight. A young man, her age she supposed, was sitting on her windowsill. Now, she knew this man all too well, but at this moment, Aaron looked like . . . like a man with black, glossy wings. His hair was hanging wet in front of his slightly copper colored eyes, his pale skin illuminated by the moonlight. He wore a black boat-neck top with boot-cut black jeans.

    "Hey," he waved to the gaping author. She released her breath and rolled her eyes.

    "Only you could kill a moment Aaron," she murmured. The tall young man gave her a confused look but shrugged the comment off. He noticed her lamp was still on and wandered over to the open notebook. Cat didn't notice. She was focusing more on Waxy, her fur slightly dirty.

    Aaron skimmed over the page, reading the very last lines she wrote down. He knew Catherine very well and liked her a lot, to speak the truth. He always supported her writings and secretly had every published book of hers. He only snuck in tonight to see what her newest story was.

    He smiled at the description of this 'angel' in her story. Black hair, copper eyes. Sounded like him. He felt honored. And an idea. He glanced back at the dozing woman then back at the notebook. A smiled formed on his lips.

    "Catherine," he whispered to her, turning back to gaze at her. She looked up at him with wide eyes as he took her hand gently in his. He pressed his lips gently to her hand and looked into her eyes. He leaned in closer to the gaping author and murmured three little words, before capturing her mouth as his own.

    "I love you."