My mother is a recluse, to use the nicer term people use to describe her. She tells me stories of her childhood in the city, but decided to make a home in a small country town. She has many degrees but spends her time at home teaching me. I often wonder where I came from, especially when its times like this when I find myself staring in the mirror.

I have red curly hair, not the strait black of my mother. We share a pale complexion, but where hers is free of any impurity mine is littered with freckles. Her eyes are a pale green, while mine are a deep blue. My face is a heart shape, and hers is oval. We do not look alike, and when I was young I liked to believe I just took after my father, but now that I'm fourteen and my figure itself is different from the curvy one of my mother I truly believe I was adopted.

Of course I have nothing to base this on, as far as I know my family is littered with redhead sticks. I've never saw a photo of my father, or of my mother's family. I've never thought to ask my mom of my origin. It doesn't matter if I was adopted because here in my life I'm content, kind of.

I stand in my pale blue room looking at myself. Today I'm in a black figureless dress that drapes above my knees. It makes me look even more pale and causes my hair to almost glow. The dress is one of the few black articles of clothing I own. Both my mom and I agree that when living in the dreary town of Kyleton its better for us to dress brightly. Today is a day for black though, so I wear it.

I turn as I hear the opening of my door, in it stands a man in a suit.

"Laura, it's almost time to go. The car is here. Are you ready?" I turn from the man and look at myself one last time. I pat my shoulder length curls and touch the locket around my neck. I stare at myself for a moment then turn on my feet and walk past the man without a word.

I walk the familiar steps down the white hall way. I try to remember the way the cool wood feels on my bare feet. I pass two closed doors then enter into the living room. If I turned right Id enter the kitchen, but I don't. I go straight to where we keep our shoes. I pull simple black flats from the top shelf then open the front door. A cold wind greets me, promising rain. I see the car the man had spoken of down the drive way and make my way to it. I don't hesitate to open the back door, instead I quickly climb into the back seat and wait for the man. I don't wait long before he himself is in the front seat and were purring down the empty road that leads to town.