We’ve tried this a couple times before. You coming here, looking at me for a story. I know that I’ve told you about my life before, but in the past I wasn’t ready to give out all the details. It wasn’t the tell all autobiography that it should have been. So this time I’m trying again. And I’m gonna try to tell it all – even the parts that are hard to talk about. It’s not gonna be as pretty as the past attempts, but it will be more full and rich with detail. The faint of heart should probably stop reading here. You’ve been warned. Lets start off with names. My name is Kelly Mykenzie Nelson. My maiden name is Deschain. My parents are Benjamin and Victoria Deschain. And, before I tell you about me, I’m going to tell you a bit about them. My parents were both Harvard educated. My father went to Harvard Law to become a lawyer. He had grand dreams of getting into politics and one day becoming President of the United States. I don’t think he’ll ever achieve that dream, but he was one helluva lawyer. My mother went to Harvard to get a degree in Psychology. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with that degree once she got it, but over the course of her education, she finally decided on becoming a psychiatrist. It made good money, and she got to do something she loved, which was working with people. My parents met at Harvard. Both of them came from rich families with backgrounds in law and medicine. So when they became a couple, there were great celebrations by both families. It was a good pairing. The engagement was announced at Christmas in 1993. The next year my parents were married in a ceremony that had all of New York abuzz with excitement. There were photogs everywhere, and everything was in the news. There were about 2,000 guests at the wedding. And even more people showed up for the reception afterwards. Everyone knew that my parents would have plenty of children to carry on the family legacy. My parents were looking forward to starting a family of their own. They decided to start trying while on their honeymoon. While the honeymoon didn’t produce any children, it did get my parents talking about the way they were going to raise their children. My father was Roman Catholic, and my mother was Lutheran. They decided that any children they had would be raised Roman Catholic. My mother also said that she wanted her children breastfed, but she didn’t want to do it herself. So they agreed to hire a wet nurse as a nanny to help take care of any children that came along. They had everything figured out by the end of their honeymoon. But, two years later and still no baby, they were starting to get worried. All the doctors said that my father had the sperm count of a dead slug. There just wasn’t anything to work with. It was a crushing development to my parents. They had begun talking about adopting when in early 1998 my mother found out that she was pregnant. She had started having morning sickness, and she thought it was the flu. But it didn’t go away. So she called her doctor and he’s the one that old her she was four weeks into a pregnancy that no one had been expecting. My mother was ecstatic, and so was my father. They couldn’t believe that just when they’d decided to give up, that they were going to have a child of their own. They knew that I’d probably be their only child, so they planned on doing everything right. Nine months of pregnancy apparently goes super slow when you’re waiting anxiously for the baby to arrive. They found out early on that I was going to be a girl, so they started putting together a nursery. They talked to wet nurses and nannies, and they got everything put into place so that, when I was born, it would be a seamless transition from hospital to home. From all accounts the pregnancy was normal, and there was nothing that could possibly go wrong. It was January 23, 1999, when I came into the world. I was perfectly on time, and the doctors had planned with my parents when exactly I’d come into the world. The delivery had to happen when everyone’s schedules worked right. That’s the day they chose. I weighed in at a small 5lbs, 10oz, and 17 inches long. But I was healthy. When the doctors handed me to my mother, she held me for all of about five minutes before handing me off to my nanny. I needed to be fed, and my mother wasn’t about to sully her own breasts by nursing me. So my nanny fed me before handing me back to my parents. There were all kinds of celebrations when I came home from the hospital three days later. All of my family was there to greet me. The whole thing is on video tape or DVD for anyone who cares to watch, although why you’d want to is beyond me. But my parents wanted to keep those memories for posterities sake. I guess, for the most part, I slept through the festivities. And when I was awake, I was in the nursery with my nanny, being fed. It would have been horrible for the guests to witness a baby being breastfed. So no one actually saw my beautiful blue eyes. No one except my nanny. The first three years of my life were pretty boring years for the most part. I learned how to crawl, walk, and do most of the other things that infants and toddlers do. The only thing I didn’t do was talk. By the time I was two, my parents were starting to get worried. They had friends with children, and all of their kids were starting to talk by the age of one or so. All I was doing was grunting and pointing at things. By the time I was two and a half, I was being taken to doctors to find out what was wrong with me. All the doctors said the same thing – my vocal chords, for some reason, weren’t developed properly. They said it’d be a miracle if I ever uttered a single word. My parents were devastated. Their perfect child wasn’t quite so perfect anymore. But they still had a healthy child, so they focused on teaching me sign language. At the age of three, I had my own private tutors. It would be another year before I opened my mouth and actually spoke anything. But once I did, I amazed everyone with what I could say. I was talking in complete sentences, and complete thoughts. My parents wept with joy the first time I spoke to them. Then I asked for my nanny and my mother got upset. At four years old I was still being nursed. My parents weren’t aware of that fact, but my nanny had just failed to wean me. I was still getting the breast whenever I wanted it, and my parents were outraged when they found out. The woman was immediately fired, and I sunk into depression. I didn’t understand why I was being punished. My mother put me on drugs to help with the depression, but it took a while to come out of it. For me to understand why my parents were so upset. I only had about a year of good times with my family before disaster struck. I was five years old, just entering kindergarten, when I was diagnosed with a rare form of Leukemia. My mother started noticing bruises on me. And she noticed that I was getting them from small bumps. I was also starting to get really sick. My parents rushed me to the hospital one night, and the doctors did all kinds of blood work. When the diagnosis came in, all of us were terrified. The doctors were saying things like, “You have to be prepared, she might not survive this.” And my parents were yelling things back about how the doctors should never say things like that to anyone. The next day we were leaving our home in New York and moving to Tennessee. St. Jude’s hospital is the best in the world for childhood cancer. My parents wanted the best doctors available to take care of me. How can I describe the next three years? I went through round after round of chemo. I went into remission twice, but it only lasted a couple months before the cancer came back. Each time the doctors fought it more and more aggressively. There were many days where I just wished that I could die. I was so sick that I had to be fed by a tube in my stomach. And even then, I didn’t keep anything down for very long. There were tubes everywhere, and I couldn’t move without tugging on one of them. Sometimes I’d just cry inconsolably for hours at a time because I was so miserable. My parents promised that I’d get better. That there was a light at the end of the tunnel. But I couldn’t see it. All I wanted was for the pain to stop. And maybe for my hair to grow back a little bit. During those three years, my father and I became very close. He was by my side for every procedure and every blood draw. He held my hand and told me stories while the doctors poked and prodded at me. My mother was too heart broken by everything to stay by my side. I loved my Daddy so much for being there with me. For holding me when the pain was so bad that all I could do was cry. But, somewhere along the line, I’m not sure where exactly, that love got a little bit twisted. I remember the first time he touched me between my legs. It was after the doctors had left, and the nurse wasn’t going to be back for a while. He slipped his hand into my panties, and he touched me. I was so shocked that I stopped crying. He whispered into my ear for me to close my eyes and relax. And he molested me for several minutes until he became too nervous about a nurse walking in. I’ve gone to therapy a lot over the years. And I’m still dealing with the shame of having been molested during my younger years. Not because I feel dirty for having been touched. But rather, because I feel dirty for having enjoyed it to an extent. The touching felt good, and it was my father making me feel good. I knew that it was wrong. I knew that Daddy would go to jail if anyone found out. I knew that I should have told someone as soon as it happened. But I didn’t. It’s taken a lot of money, and a lot of therapy to realize that there wasn’t anything wrong or bad about me. That I was just a normal child, having a normal reaction to what was being done to me. After a while the molestation got more bold. And after a while I began to dread being alone with my father. Once I got better, once the Leukemia stayed in remission, we went back home to New York. Daddy would come into my bedroom at night to tuck me in. He always touched me then, and after a while he started encouraging me to touch him. By that time I didn’t want to be touched and I didn’t want to touch him. I’d beg him to stay away from me, to not make me do it. But my pleas always fell on deaf ears. The molestation would continue until I turned 18 and moved out of my parents’ house. And, by the time I was 17, it had gone from molestation to rape. My only consolation was that he was always gentle with me. He never went out of his way to hurt me. I should tell you a bit about my school years. I was a good student in school, but only because my parents had the money to pay for my grades. I went to a public school. My parents wanted me to look like any other kid in the country. It made them look good in my father’s political career. Instead of sending his kid to a private school, he was making sure that the public schools were as best as they could be. I had a lot of friends in school. Everyone wanted to be friends with me, because my parents let me have pool parties, and beach parties, and any other kind of party that I wanted. There were always a bunch of giggling girls hanging around my house. I’m sure my father loved watching us all run around in our bikinis in the summer. And, by the time I turned 14, I was getting into cheerleading. It was my passion in high school. It was part of being popular. Now, the fun part… Troy Nelson. I was 15 and a freshman in high school when I met Troy. He was two years older than me, and a couple grades ahead of me. But he was the star quarterback of our football team. It seemed natural that he’d date a cheerleader. And I was the one that he picked. It did wonders for my social standing in school. Although that wasn’t the part that I loved most about Troy. I loved that he was so much fun to be around. He always made me laugh. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. And he was a genuinely good guy. He never pushed me for anything. He loved me despite how vain I’d become, and how air headed I could sometimes be. I loved Troy Nelson from the very beginning. To say that Troy and I got into trouble together would be an understatement. He was the first person I ever slept with willingly. The first time happened on a date after we’d been together about six months. If he was surprised that I wasn’t a virgin, then he never mentioned it. Maybe he expected with my personality and popularity that I wouldn’t be. But I so very much wished that I had been. Troy was my first love, and only true love. I can still see the principal’s face when he caught us having sex under the bleachers in the school gymnasium. Our parents were called, and I’m not sure how much trouble Troy got into, but I was in quite a bit of trouble after that. My mother was disgusted by the idea of me having sex under the bleachers. And she was also disgusted by the idea of the scandal that would follow when everyone else found out about it. My father was mad because he was no longer the only man in my life. In the end, I was grounded for two weeks and not allowed to see Troy except for at school during that time. I saw a lot of my father, though. Because Troy was a couple years ahead of me in high school, that meant that he started college a couple years before me. During that year we were apart, I started dating Troy’s younger brother, Lucas. He was a poor replacement for Troy, but it was the best I could do. The guy I loved was so busy with school, and not to mention too far away for me to get to. Lucas and me didn’t really have much in common except for our social standing in society and in school. It was a rather boring year for both of us, I think. And, after that year with Lucas, I started going on a dating spree. I had a new girlfriend or boyfriend almost every other month. But no one could keep my attention the way that Troy did. I was glad to get to Harvard and back into Troy’s arms. When I went to Harvard, my parents knew that I was going there to be with Troy. My official stance was that I wanted to get into psychology. I didn’t want to get into the medical aspect, but I did want to do something with criminal justice. Like profiling or something – it was a popular television theme for a while, and caught my interest. But my parents knew that I was going to be living with Troy, and that we’d be an item. It was for that reason that my father refused to pay my tuition to Harvard. He wouldn’t let my mother pay it, either. He said that I’d either quit school and come home, or I’d find a way to pay for it myself. Of course he was hoping that I’d come home and go to community college or something. Instead, I got a job at a local strip joint. Between scholarships, grants, and stripping every available hour I could get, I was able to pay my way through college for four years. Troy wasn’t happy with the job choice, but it was the best I could do. I wasn’t exactly qualified for anything else. I can still see the day perfectly when Troy proposed to me. It was shortly after my 21st birthday. Valentine’s Day, actually. We spent the day shopping and eating at our favorite diners. Then, that evening during dinner, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. The ring was gorgeous, and he must have spent a small fortune on it. But the important part was that he was asking me to marry him. I couldn’t say no. Without even a hesitation, I said yes and kissed my fiancée. He slipped the ring onto my finger, and I knew that no one would ever hurt me again. I know that his parents were thrilled that we were getting married. Jess Nelson has a policy that the first person you sleep with had damn well be the one that you’re gonna marry. So she was more than happy for us. My mother was more than happy for us, too. But my father disapproved something fierce. Usually it’s the bride’s family that pays for the wedding. My father refused. He said that if I was going to marry Troy Nelson, then his family could pay for the wedding. I was crushed, but Troy and Jess were there to pick up the pieces. Troy made me see that I didn’t need my father’s approval, and Jess was there to take me shopping and help me plan for everything. Two years after our engagement, Troy and I got married. Like my parents, we had a Christmas wedding. It was December 25, 2022, when we were married. Troy’s whole family was there, along with all of our friends, and most of my family. The only one missing was my father. And that day is also when a new revelation came out in my life… Remember when I said that my father had the sperm count of a dead slug? Well, he really did. My mother, frustrated with his lack of ability to get her pregnant, had a one night stand with a friend of hers from high school. His name was William Graymark, and I found out on my wedding day that he was my actual father. Mama brought him with to the wedding, so that he could see his daughter walk down the aisle. It was my grandfather who actually walked me down the aisle and gave me away. But it meant a lot to me that I was actually able to meet my biological father, and that he was there to see me get married to the man of my dreams. But I wasn’t expecting the gift that he’d decided to give me for my wedding day. I don’t know how much you know about the Wingriders, but that’s what my biological father was. He was a Pegasus shifter, with the ability to control time to a limited extent. And, for my wedding present, he decided to give me those abilities as well. He approached me after everyone had left, and produced a beautiful sword from seemingly nowhere. Then he asked me to take a hold of the hilt. When I did, my mind was opened up to millions of memories and abilities that had lain dormant until that moment. I passed out with the sword in my hands, and when I woke up, I realized that not only was I in love with Troy, but he was also my Bondmate. I couldn’t live without him, and I’d literally die if anything happened to him. Thankfully, Troy is immortal also, so I don’t have much to worry about. But I know without a doubt that he’s truly the man that I was meant to be with. After the wedding, life for me went back to normal. I was working on my Master’s degree, and stripping to pay for the education. I can’t say that my boss was too happy with the idea that there was a pair of rings on my finger, but no one said too much of anything. I still made great tips. It was while I was stripping that a man approached me with a modeling offer. He said that I was gorgeous, and that I should be doing something better than stripping for a living. I took his card, and I went to the photoshoot that he’d set up for me. That was my entrance into the world of modeling and acting. I can’t say that I’m the best actress in the world. I’ll probably never win the Oscar like Jess Nelson did back in 2009. But I have a career now that I love. I get to work on the most amazing sets. And I get to meet the most interesting people. I know that Troy doesn’t really care for all the movie premieres and all the different gala events that we have to go to, but it could be a whole lot worse. I could still be twirling around a pole without my shirt. I did finish my Masters in psychology. I have that to fall back on should I ever need to. But I don’t see the acting thing going anywhere for quite a while. It’s only been two years so far, but I’m getting more and more scripts offered to me. In fact, a couple have been written specifically with me in mind. It’s kinda flattering, to be honest. I guess I’ve come a long way from the little girl that I used to be. I’ve grown up a lot, and become a strong and independent woman. It’s a nice place to be, as long as I have Troy by my side. There has been one hitch in all the good that has been my life the past few years. As of late November 2026, I was diagnosed with leukemia again. I noticed the bruises, knew what it possibly meant, but didn’t say anything to Troy. I didn’t want to go through the chemo again. At that point, I felt like I’d rather die than go through all of that again. But Troy convinced me to see a doctor. On Thanksgiving I started the chemo again. They had to completely destroy my immune system before they could do a bone marrow transplant. That’s really the only hope I had. Thanks to Wingrider technology, I had the bone marrow that I needed for the transplant. It was just a question of surviving the chemo to get to the transplant. As you can see, I made it through the chemo. It was hellish at times, and I went through days where I wished I could die, but Troy was by my side the entire time. By January my immune system was gone, and I'd had the transplant. And where we stand now, I'm back to living my life as best as I can. My hair has grown back out, and I feel almost normal again. It's a good place to be. So this is the end. This is where I say goodbye, and tell you that I’ve finally spilled my guts completely. If you didn’t like the story, then you only have yourself to blame for reading it. I gave you fair warning, remember? But maybe you’ve found out a little bit more about me, and now understand why I am the way I am. It’s not something that I set out to become. I’m just a creation of circumstance. But it’s not all bad. I got my prince.