Hello! This is the beginning of the rewritten version of my previous story, "Letters from Nowhere". First off, if anyone rereading this is one of my old loyal subscribers/reviewers. I want to apologize for my abrupt deleting of the previous version. I ended up having to do so because some EXTREMELY RUDE individuals rather than being adult about a problem they had about my story and coming to me about it, one I would have been happy to hear and resolve. (That is what the bright purple PM Button is for people!)

Instead of simple flames they spammed my story with bigger, and uncalled for negative comments and I couldn't remove them. So now because of these sour grapes ruining it for everybody else, I will no longer be accepting anonymous comments on any of my stories for a while. Because while I have blocked the offending parties, I can't be 100% sure they or somebody they know on their behalf won't try to weasel back in and try it again. So I warn you here and now, if I have to go thru that again, I WILL report whoever it is to the site after they are put on my blocked list.

Because I won't have some putz with a chip on their shoulder come try to pick a verbal fight with me simply because they don't like what I write. And spoil it for all the other respectful readers by revoking their privileges for them. On the upside I was planning on a rewrite of this fic anyway, so I had everything saved in back up, I just deleted the whole thing earlier than planned. But still it's the principle of the thing.

I don't own Godchild. I'm just playing Goddess and manipulating the characters lives to satisfy my own warped desires. Though I admit to have taken a LOT of liberties by borrowing bits and pieces from favorite comics, books and cartoons, like Pokemon and Japanese manga. However all that belongs to their own respective parties and etc, I'm only borrowing them to play with in my story. They will be returned to the collective toy box with full credit given to all involved when all is said and done.

On another note, people I don't remember "everything" I've read over the years, or where it came from. I just write off the top of my head and usually put down the first thing/scenario that pops into it for this fic. So if you see something that's similar to something you know in this story. I'm NOT a bloody psychic or freaking mind reader, PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL AND PM ME so I can make sure I'm not offending anybody, and or I can correct a problem.

I check my emails every day, sometimes several times. I love hearing from my readers, weither it be ideas they'd like to see in a particular plot or thoughts and concerns. I check AND answer when I have time. I'm NOT here to make any money; I just like to write for fun and enjoyment as a hobby. So please, DON'T spoil it for me and others by having a complex, Thank you.

"You make a living by what you get; you make a life by what you give."- Anon.

Below average.

That's all you could say for her really.

She was one of those dregs of society, unlike its own massed produced drones she expected little out of life and vice versa. Though she eked out a meager living, all she wanted was a small content existence and asked for no more than that. Life and the people therein paid about as much as attention to her as one would a gnat. Only dealing when necessary and quickly or to use her as a convenient scapegoat for their own mistakes or try to force feed their opinions down her throat. Even her own parents had abandoned her long ago to further their own selfish ambitions with new loves, new children and all-around new lives. Only acknowledging her out of guilty obligation when holidays came about with a check and hollow wishes of good luck. Though honestly, it was only really a tenth of the time if they even bothered to remember her.

For she was neither pretty, accomplished nor outwardly talented like her perfect step-sisters and brothers. Not even worth a second glance if you passed her on the street. Though had the world cared to come out of its hard shell long enough it would have come to a startling realization.

This young woman was one of those rare people both, wise and quietly clever, who understood more about the inner workings of life than it did. She was kind, yes. That was all well and good. But if one had had the privilege of knowing her personally would have found a multifaceted personality of such depth and character, it would have left you wondering, "How the hell did I miss that?"

But nobody cared about her opinion, and she had figured out a long time ago that it was better to keep her mouth shut. Nobody was going to listen. Another strange thing about her was though she was a scrape goat and ignored, she felt no rage as a normal person would. Instead she felt pity for she had always known that she was extra special, if not where she was living now. Then someday it would find her, at least she hoped. For unfortunately she had seen enough people live to their life's end and not achieve what they were searching for, or even be happy at all for that matter.

She practically lived in the Library, books like Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings appealed to her. And she thought the Chronicles of Narnia and The Never-ending Story were very nice, up to a point. She liked Saturday Morning Cartoons, Japanese Anime and the WB. The Last Airbender, W.I.T.C.H., and Charmed were some of her favorite shows. She had always believed in magic as well as other worlds and such. Among other things, she was picky about what she liked but each favorite had their own lessons to teach and she welcomed them for they taught her more in a single half-hour to an hour than her bigoted peers ever had in years. Also addicted heavily to role-playing, it didn't matter if it was books or a TV Show inserting an alternate version of herself into the stories. There she having been everything from a member of an ancient pantheon, down to royal and slave alike. Even as mythical creatures with magical powers, she lived a life fuller than most people could even dream.

It helped keep precious hope alive and sanity intact. Other than that on the outside she was, below average.

And it was that same hope that led her to the destiny she was always sure would come for her. In her small hometown there was an even smaller street that was known as, "Antique Row." Not particularly fancy, packed though with mostly junk for the few tourists who bumbled through town, every now and again. But if you came on the right day and were not afraid to get yourself dirty you could sometimes get lucky finding beautiful treasures. It was on one of those particular days that she found, what she would later describe as the "it".

It also happened to have been located in the one upscale shop on that rundown stretch of road. Two measly days after she had just lost her job on a technicality that her typical hateful managers had just waited to terminate her loyal service on, ironically wasn't even her fault. But it was just one of many things that had not been going well that year. But it was an impulsive purchase, paid for with her few remaining funds that should have gone for car insurance. Still she wasn't the first person in the history of everything to do such, nor would she be the last. Plus, she was a woman when she wanted something she usually got it no matter the cost, literally in this case. When finally managed to get it home it was crammed into an unoccupied corner of the spare bedroom that was used for nothing other than storage. It sat there looking somewhat cramped in the confined space, a hidden valley amid mountains of boxes. There it sat and she taking the time to really study it more indepth.

It was a gorgeous desk, certainly nineteenth century by the look of it. It was a bit narrow for its size though in extremely fine condition, and continued to be so. An obscene amount of bubble wrap and duct tape from three separate (and now sold-out) office supplies stores plus almost every padded comforter in her home made sure of it. Anybody could say what they liked about her, but if it was one thing that actually could be said about her, whatever she had. It would be given the utmost care and upkeep. The desk appeared to be pure Victorian stock she wouldn't have been surprised if it had once graced the halls of royalty. She couldn't tell what wood it was but it was dark with the original finish. It had a cubbies for letters and such, drawers and shelves for knick-knacks with a slide out door to shut it all in. All in all, it was worth every penny she had paid for it. But there was just something surreal about it, almost as if it didn't belong. Maybe that was what attracted her in the first place; whatever the case she knew it was not your typical piece of furniture.

Oh, how right she was.

For it wasn't too long after that she found, the first letter...