A/N: The title will most definitely change.. So anywhoo Lovelies, I hope someone likes this :) Just let me if I should continue. And I will try to make the next chapter longer, if I end up posting it.

I used to feel.. small, insignificant, useless. All the time, no matter how hard I tried, I could never make myself feel better about it though. I could stand in a mob of people, zombies, and I wouldn't stand out. Nothing but another unrecognizable, meaningless blob. An extra. Standing on the sidelines watching, never being the one who was watched. Never admired. Always there but never seen. Well, seen but never acknowledged. That quiet kid who wasn't fat, or skinny, or smart, or stupid. I was always in the middle. I was sure that I couldn't change it. That I was another bird trapped in an unbreakable iron birdcage until my death. Caged until my pathetic life shattered. But, that wasn't the case. Well, it was. Up until today.

Today is the day I saw my family dead, brutally murdered. Throats slashed, limbs missing. Oh, everyday stuff, y'know. I was informed that they suffered before death. That yes, they cried, yes, my twin brother pissed himself when they cut off his arm. Or, sometime around then. Anyway, I didn't really care; I mean, they were my family, shit yeah, I was sad. A bit. But it didn't affect me that much. I didn't see memories of them around every corner because I barely saw them in the first place. So I wasn't eternally sad like most are when 'close' family members are murdered and you walk in on them. But there is more then just that today, more then just the new-found anniversary of my family's death. It is also the day that Chance Moreau dropped off the face of the earth and I was replaced with Felicia Bordun, Adrianne Martin and Clare Eclair. I'm nameless; I'm no one, I'm everyone; I'm someone. Someone who is hiding from the authorities, taking shelter in dog-shit alleyways and scruffy Mcdonalds parking lots. I'm hiding because of I crime I may or may not have committed; the murder of my family. I'm not sure if I did; even I don't believe me when I tell myself I didn't do it. There's tons of evidence against me.

So why do I feel innocent sometimes? Maybe because I can't remember a thing that happened in the twenty-four hours leading up to their deaths. The twenty-four hours before I became Elaine Aliéné and Ella-Mae Bordeaux. I'm not sure how worried I should be about being arrested, none of what's happening right now feels quite real. But I'm just bullshitting myself when I try to pretend it's not real. But I can't worry myself right now, I have to focus on getting out of Paris before I can do anything. Then, once I'm out, I will become Marie Leroy, or maybe Sally Cormier, or both. Maybe I will forget about this life completely, my parents, my brother and all.

But, as much as my family made me feel insignificant, worthless and boring they were still my family. And you can't not want to remember your family. You can't not want to avenger them, or see them come back from the dead, rising from their graves, perfectly healthy and okay. And, you certainly can't not blame yourself, especially if you think you may have been the one to murder them.