((If you want or need any other specific info on Grace-- i.e., Aura Reading, magic reading, psionic reading, etc, please feel free to PM me! Enjoy!))

[b]Name:[/b] Grace Williamson (last name not commonly known)
[b]Age:[/b] 18
[b]Gender:[/b] Female
[b]Height:[/b] 5'6"
[b]Weight:[/b] ~120lbs (not including wings)
[b]Eyes:[/b] Dark Blue
[b]Hair:[/b] Chocolate Brown
[b]Complexion:[/b] Fair skinned, light freckles on cheeks and nose
[b]Notable Physical Features:[/b] Wings -- Large; White; Feathered; Fully Functional
[b]Known Abilities:[/b] Touch Healing (method unknown); Flight; Archery
[b]Last Seen Wearing:[/b] Black Jeans; Black Sneakers; Dark Purple Racer-back Shirt

[b]Orign Story:[/b]

[i]"Where sin is deep,
your Grace is more...
Where Grace is found
is where you are..."[/i]

Born into a deeply religious family to parents who were previously unable to conceive, the baby boy was a blessing, and they named him Jadon. Two years later, God blessed the little family with a girl, whom they named Grace, and their life seemed to be suddenly idyllic.

Grace Williamson grew up robustly healthy, but as slender and graceful as her namesake. Circumspect, introverted, shy and unusually thoughtful, everyone in the small, close-knit community who met the child described her as an "old soul". The young girl harbored a deep curiosity about life, and never grew out of the phase of childhood where a child continuously asks "why?" As she lived and aged, she simply began to seek the answers to her questions more quietly, asking and answering them by herself, each intrigue a new-- and usually solitary-- adventure, despite having a brother she might have shared it with. She certainly loved her brother, but it seemed best to seek answers between herself and God. After all, she was taught since infancy that God was all-knowing and all-seeing, a benevolent force... And one did not question God's Will.

No one did. Except-- very quietly and only to herself-- for Grace.

It became her responsibility as she grew to take care of the family's animals around their small acreage, a duty that was never a chore, as she loved them all. After one summer camp held for the children, Grace learned archery, and instantly fell in love with the sport. She continued thereafter for many years as a form of stress relief and enjoyment, shooting targets on fences and trees-- cans, bottles, papers... but never living creatures. As she aged, though, she began to have trouble with her upper back and shoulders-- the joints would catch painfully and lock, and often she became sore and tired after only the briefest of target shooting sessions. Eventually she was forced to reluctantly put down the bow and focus on less physically demanding tasks, on some days hardly able to make it through her chores.

By the age of thirteen, Grace began to experience a vast broadening of her thoughts while resting her sore body. She began to see creatures and people through different perspectives-- visually, mentally and emotionally-- experiencing her interactions with them on an unusually sensitive scale. It became something tangible unexpectedly one afternoon, as she tended to the horses on her family's small acreage.

Grace had been completing her chores by filling the water trough in the smaller, shaded pasture when the distressed squeals of one of their three horses sent her sprinting for the fence purely on instinct. The bay mare, Ella, had tried to leap the gate to enter the pasture where Grace had been filling the trough, and had fallen. She had struggled to her feet by the time Grace reached her-- but the horse was trembling and twitching with pain, her front legs streaked with blood from multiple slashes sustained in the foolhardy escapade.

Stricken, Grace had reached instinctively to comfort the blowing horse, her hands on the mare's soft nose and in her mane. Feeling stiff and painful in sincere empathy for the creature, Grace had the inexplicable feeling that each was holding up the other for a moment... and soon the mare had quieted under her soothing touch. Feeling safe to release her and go for help, the girl had let go and stepped back-- only to find that Ella's wounds were nonexistent. The only indication they had ever been there at all were the dark, drying streaks of blood.

Amazed and reeling, Grace had sat down on the trough and stared at her hands for a long time, her thoughts racing. She knew she had done this-- had healed Ella. There was no question in her heart or mind of that... But how? And the ever asked... /Why/?

In the end, she had reluctantly decided to keep it to herself, until she could consider some of the life-altering questions alone with God, first. Ella was washed down, and though held in secret, the incident was not forgotten...

For most of the next three months, Grace became even more withdrawn from her family and community, carefully exploring her ability to heal creatures of pasture and woodland-- with the utmost secrecy. Her parents began to worry, as she had communicated very little already, and now even less so. When questioned, she would simply reply that she was praying more about something, and listening very hard for guidance. This reply tended to stave off further questions, leaving her more freedom to wander the outer pastures and woodland alone.

Three weeks before her fourteenth birthday, God appeared to finally give Grace an answer-- though it certainly wouldn't feel like it.

Jadon found her collapsed next to the watering trough, screaming with such desperation that the horses in the adjoining pasture were whinnying and rearing in fear. She had fallen to the ground and lay writhing in the grass, the earth churned under her body from her own agonized thrashing-- the back of her shirt soaked through with blood.

Her parents had sprinted to her aid and carried her into their home, and a doctor and priest were fetched immediately. Grace, white with unimaginable pain that had become nothing but desultory moans and agonized writhing, had no strength to resist having her sopping shirt cut off--

The room had gone silent, except for her continuous sounds of pain. For there, quite plainly through open wounds on her back, were the damp beginnings of wings. White, feathered wings.

And there was where the assumptions began full force-- for it seemed obvious to everyone in the room that the community was blessed yet again, as Grace was an Angel of God now forging out through her mortal body. Praise was given and prayers were uttered almost non-stop from the moment the discovery was made.

The process was far less pleasant for Grace, having to 'forge through her mortal body' one agonizing hour at a time. In the end, tended by priest and doctor every day, it took seven weeks of unutterable suffering for Grace's wings to grow in to a reasonable size and fullness. She barely ate, couldn't sleep for days, and by the time the pain became manageable, she was a wraith of her former self. But the community, convinced that this was yet another mark of favor from God, treated Grace with as much reverence and care as they felt was due her-- and this was considerable, indeed.

It took still longer for Grace's wings to fledge and her flight feathers to grow, though this process was almost painless. During this time she was fed whenever she wanted and whatever she wanted, gradually growing back into her vigorous health. With her improved health, she regained her ability to heal by her touch. This was discovered involuntarily, as the priest who had tended her through the growth of her wings had tripped on the lintel in his haste on the way in to see her one morning and sprained his ankle. She hadn't meant to do it, she really hadn't-- but when he had touched her forehead to bless her, as he had done every day since the beginning of her ordeal, she had felt the pain in his ankle... And she could tell by the shock and dawning realization in the priest's face that she had healed him.

Nearly every moment of the day from then on, someone from the community would come to see her-- either to be blessed by being in her presence, or to have themselves or their children healed of moderate wounds, injuries or illnesses. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy helping the sick and wounded in a substantial, meaningful way... In fact, it was partially a relief to know that her family and community felt that her abilities were a blessing. But her precious bubble of silence and contemplation had collapsed around her. Solitude became rare and extremely valuable to Grace. About the only time she was alone was at her insistence that no one could help her learn to fly except God.

It took months to learn to use her wings, although she prayed every day for help. She began by simply flapping them, moving them, getting used to having extra appendages to control. Once she could move about freely without knocking things off of shelves and walls, she took herself to the furthest pasture. Through trial and error she taught herself the best ways to practice strengthening her muscles, how to coordinate, and through her own willpower and determination, gradually began to get herself off the ground and flying.

Though she still prayed, God remained silent.

A year began to slip by, and Grace's life fell into a predictable rhythm again. She taught herself to use her bow again, her shoulders loosened and painless. People continued to regularly come to see her for a miracle of healing, would pause in the street and bow their heads, cross themselves as she moved about the town, humbled by their immense blessing.

In the summer of Grace's sixteenth year, the day wouldn't begin feeling any different than the last, at first. Chores were done, meals prepared... And just before dinner, an argument broke out between Jadon and her parents. It was quiet at first, but by the time she got down the hall to the kitchen, pots and pans had been flung on the floor and the door was slamming closed behind her brother. Her parents had been pale and uncertain, and hesitated to go after him at first-- Grace made the decision for them, and followed her brother into the night.

All she found was a bright spark of light in the far pasture-- the stables there having been wreathed in flame. Most of the structure was in smoking ruin by the time they were able to put out the fire, and Jadon was nowhere to be found. He never came back to the house, fleeing the community, rebelling, the elders said. When everyone had gone home, Grace had remained, her heart heavy and sick with feeling for her brother. And it was then she noticed the mark on the single remaining upright post in the charred ruin-- a handprint, sunk partway into the wood, burned into it... She had left then, feeling a passive /anger/, and wanting to get away.

It was winter before the incident had finally been buried under the newly erected stables, and Jadon was never spoken about again... but Grace remembered, in a secret place in her heart.

Folk began to come again to see her, and for several more years, Grace routinely blessed and healed them. But more and more she began to feel uneasy, uncertain...

And she wondered. She pondered and thought and wondered... Was she really an Angel? Not once had she heard God's voice. She hadn't a single memory of Heaven or any other Divine beings... Did she even have the right to bless anyone? Her thoughts ran in endless circles, her questions ever unanswered-- until at eighteen, she decided she had to find out somehow. If God wouldn't answer her, the answer had to exist /somewhere/. And it wasn't here.

So Grace lied.

She spoke to the community one moonlit night, and said she had received a message from God in a dream. She told them gently that though God had blessed them and would remember their careful warding of her through her ordeals, that it was time for Grace to move into the world. It was her purpose on Earth to bring healing to as many of the sick and wounded as she would come across, and her time had come to seek them out.

Though she felt a small twinge of guilt for the deception, the community accepted her words as readily as they had accepted her as their blessing, their Angel-- though they were undoubtedly sad to see her go.

She had sought out the members of her family to wish them well, and from her parents had received a few small gifts to take with her on her journey. She had thought strongly about Jadon... It pained her still to think of how he must have felt about all of this, about her... It was never her intention to alienate anyone, let alone her family-- but it had started to feel very hard to relate to others with the constant barrage of reverence and humility. So she had left, taking with her the few pieces of wearable clothing she had owned and enough money to see her through for a few weeks time.

From her home, Grace had traveled in a random direction. Most of the time she flew, as high as she could. The hunter green, heavy blanket she had taken from her bed she kept flung around her shoulders when amongst people, stopping only in the smallest or most remote towns to reduce her risk of being discovered until she revealed herself willingly.

Whether by fate or random chance, Grace had been traveling toward Titan City. As her supplies and cash had run low, she had squeezed into a booth in a diner some miles outside the city, and overheard conversation about 'supers' and their abilities, the people in the City... and if ever there was a place where her answers could be found, it would have to be there.

So her decision was made, and with a full stomach, Grace had taken off in the direction of Titan City's heart.