Prologue

My life is no usual one, and it is not getting any more normal with age, ever since I was little my mom freaked at just about anything, the only thing that calmed her down were irises and garlic. They seemed to remind her that I was safe, although I don't get how! Garlic gave me a head ache it stinks so much, and irises were neither my favorite flower nor hers, but the combination seamed to soothe her frantic cries.

My name is Luna Lupis; I am seven and soon to be eight. My mother still treats me like a helpless infant, but her temper seemed to grow as I grow. We have garlic in whatever meal she can fit it into, and she can become pretty sneaky, once she was caught trying to sneak chunks of it into my cereal. I yelled at her saying I would refuse to eat it. She smacked my cheek her long thick nails cutting deep into my flesh. I was six. I cried for the rest of the day, she forced the putrid mix down my gullet. That was the worst day I can remember.

She would have kept giving it to me for breakfast but she took one spoonful and vomited. She apologized and locked me in the house and went to work. This is going to sound crazy but I have no idea where she works. I always ask but she says she is tired and takes a nap, but instead I always her he pacing in her room, muttering non sense to herself.

My mother was a pretty but unusual looking woman, and I looked just like a younger smaller version of her. She had flowing silvery blonde hair, white as you will ever see, pewter blue eyes that could stare right through your soul, and pale skin with a slight tan. She was a thin woman, but her hips and breast were full, she was deep chested her arms legs were very long. She had a big nose and her eyes were slanted upward, protected by long eyelashes. All her teeth were slightly pointed. She preferred to walk on her tiptoes and she seemed she had to remember to use her thumbs. My mother was 26 years old; she was 18 when she gave birth to me.

She has a form of obsessive compulsive disorder. Or at least that is rash guess of mine, having read a book titled "Kissing Doorknobs" by Terry Spencer Hesser. My mom shows some of the symptoms of the disorder. She has a nightly routine to check every nook and cranny of our small one bathroom two bedroom house. She is obsessed with religion. Every artifact permitted by the Vatican is in our house somewhere there are Crucifixes everywhere; she takes us to church every other day, we are and strictly Roman Catholic. I believe in everything my mother says (usually, I still don't believe in garlic) so I believe in God the Father and that Jesus died on a cross about 2,000 years ago to grant us eternal life with him in heaven after our earthly mission is finished.

I still don't know what my earthly mission is, but I doubt I will ever find out what it is, my mother won't let me out of the house, unless it is church, I am home-schooled with no friends. I had a cellphone ever since I was four, it is only for emergencies, but I never got to use it for a real emergency, unless you consider my mom calling me 20 times an hour asking me if I am alright. I don't even know what we are afraid of? Kidnappers, my mom keeps everything locked at all times, burglars, unless you are the diocese coming in to steal your crucifixes back, we really have nothing in a valuable worth.

Another quirk that my mother has is that she won't let me read twilight, claiming Vampires are evil, putrid, discussing monsters that cannot be loved or trusted. Instead she wants me to see Dracula, the old horror movie. Claiming that is a real vampire, a backstabbing demon.

Tomorrow is my eighth birthday and I expect it is going to be like my other birthdays, hard to remember, and with a large slice of Vanilla-garlic cake.