Shattering Crystal

Crystal Waterford was bored. She had read every book known to man, learned ten languages, invented a dozen different spells and potions, and gone to the day spa she conveniently lived next door to no less than six times.

And that was just this week.

She sighed, her large, full, bosom rising gorgeously over the top of the tight pink spaghetti-strapped tank top she wore. It said "kiss me" on it in big, blue, sparkly script letters, outlined in white.

She got up off her bed which had a red comforter, gold sheets, and five pillows on it, and was a day bed made of mahogany covered in carvings, and she conveniently looked in her mirror so the author had a perfect opportunity to describe her in excruciating detail.

She had long, rippling honey-gold-platinum blonde hair. The exact shade changed with her mood. It fell perfectly to her waist and just reached her full, but not fat, hips. Her eyes were a startling shade of emerald-leaf-jade-grass green. They were large and framed by full, thick eyelashes. Her eyes were her favourite feature.

She had pale, golden, glowing, creamy, clear, unblemished skin. She tanned very easily, but only when she wanted to, and she never got sunburned.

She had full, luscious lips, a thin, aristocratic nose, a round chin, high cheekbones, and a perfectly proportioned forehead. She was tall, but still short enough to be able to wear high-heeled shoes and not be taller than her boyfriend's eyes. Her legs were miles long.

Her figure was perfect. She was slim, but not overly thin, with a small, tiny waist, wide but not fat hips, a bum that was small but not too small, and enormous breasts that never occur naturally, especially on seventeen-year-olds such as herself.

But hers were natural of course. Did you expect anything less?

She smiled, and her cheeks flushed, making her look fresh-faced and dewy, like she had just gone for a brisk walk as the sun rose.

"Crystal!!!!!!!!!!!" she heard her mother call. "Your father and I need you to come in here!"

Actually, they were her foster parents. She'd been adopted at birth but had never known who her real parents were. She liked to think that her father was the handsome young son of a very rich aristocrat, and her mother a beautiful parlour maid. She imagined that they'd fallen in love and had a passionate affair, but her grandfather had forced it to end when he found out that his son had impregnated a maid. Her mother was fired and shunned from good society, somehow got by, but was unable to support a child. So, however much she wanted to keep Crystal, she left her in an orphanage with nothing but her name and necklace, a thin gold chain with a paper-thin lily on the end.

That still didn't account for the odd lightening-bolt-shaped scar on her forehead, but Crystal chose to ignore that unimportant little detail.

She sighed, her smile faded, and she ran down the stairs into the kitchen. Her parents were sitting at the tiny round table, and gestured for her to take the empty seat.

"Crystal," her father began uncertainly, "your mother and I have something we need to tell you, and we've been putting it off for far too long."

"What is it?" Crystal questioned.

"Who your real parents are," her mother said.