"You're special," my mother told me. "Both you and your sister, you're very, very special."

"We are?" I was so young.

"Yes, you are." She had knelt down to look me in the eye. "You're different. You can do things that other people can't do."

Her praise was uncharacteristic… even at seven, I knew that. I stared at her, barely even blinking, waiting for her mood to shift.

Her face had tightened, lines on her eyes standing out. There.

"And people are going to hunt you. There's always going to be somebody after you. You need to sleep with one eye open, and always have you knife with you. You need to be the best at hiding. You need to learn the lessons I teach you and do the things I tell you. Don't question me, just do it. Are we clear?"

"Yes," I had said.

"Good." She had smiled, but it had looked like more of a mouth-twitch. "Now go wake your sister… I have a surprise for you."

The surprise had turned out to be self defense classes.

The three of us lived in a tiny two-room place on the eighth floor of a crappy apartment building. More often than not, me and my sister would be unsupervised, as our mom ran two jobs and only came home around eleven PM, if then. She worked full time at a restaurant two blocks away, and part time as a prostitute in a nightclub.

Her name was Jane. She never sugar-coated anything, swore often, and never sent us to school. "Stay inside between nine and three," she always said. She never said good morning or tucked us in at night… and we never expected her to. We accepted the fact that our mom was different than other moms and that was okay, because we could basically do anything we wanted.

By the time we were able to speak, and even a little before, Jane made it clear that we were different. "No," she said to me. "Not all little girls see the lights." When I was older, she explained that the "lights" were actually souls, human souls. It was fun to be able to see them: my sister and I, when we're bored, look outside and soul-spot, seeing if we can find any new colors. You can tell a lot about a person from his soul. And another lesson Jane hammered into us: stay away from people with black souls. They are demons, or just very evil. She also said to hide our strength, especially in class. It was inhuman, which, in fact, we were: 25% angel, that is.

It's not like she was a bad mother… she tried her best for us. She brought books and magazines back from her job sometimes. Nothing was ever consistent: Good Homes and Gardens, the Scarlet Letter, trashy romance novels, cheesy girl magazines. I taught myself how to read and then taught my sister. I asked for workbooks when I was ten, and she asked around and found an acquaintance who had a surplus of books for her students. I devoured the lessons, not because I was smart, but because I liked learning. It was cool to learn things about the world that I never knew before.

Oh, and another odd thing about my mother: she never named us. We didn't exist anyway, according to the government. "It's for your safety," she said. When I was four, I wondered what my name was, because when I read the books I was able to, everybody in there had names. I asked her what my name was, and she rolled her eyes. "I don't know. It's your name. Just choose something that sounds right."

I pored through our book collection, looking for the perfect name for myself. I wanted something beautiful and magical. I changed my name often, a few of them being Lilac, Brietta, and Rainfall. But I finally settled on a name at eight: Violet, because I saw violets grow in the cracks in the sidewalk near our apartment and I thought they were pretty. My sister took longer than me, waiting until she was eleven until naming herself Star Arabella. We had no last name.

Sometimes I felt like the world was only the apartment we lived in, and the studio we went to for our Krav Maga lessons. It means "contact combat," and Jane liked it because it wasn't just smoke and mirrors and repetitions - it was real life self-defense.

Jane was, and still is, very judgemental and looks-centric. Even with the Krav Maga classes I always was a bit heavy, even though we don't get much to eat. I work as hard as I can in class but I still have bits of fat that cling to my thighs and stomach. Jane often gives me a skeptical up-down look and gives a bigger portion to Star, who's always been rail-thin.

I learned to not let it bother me. After all, Star was the better daughter, at least in terms of power. It was apparent from the start that there was more angel in her than me. When I used my power, my eyes barely glowed, just went from blue to smoky-colored. Hers, on the other hand, glowed a faint, creamy white. Jane showered her with praise and I tried to ignore it all.

I read about girls with mothers and fathers and wondered where my father was. When I probed Jane about it, she got a look in her eye that I can only describe as murderous. "Your father is… was… a douchebag. I'll tell you when you're older."

I asked her again three years later, a mere year ago. It had freaked me out, but I convinced myself to do it. After all, I was older. When I brought it up, she sighed. "I'm going to be late for work… but you deserve to know."

Star was playing in the next room over with a few half-clothed Barbies that Jane had brought home. Jane sat me down upon the mattress Star and I shared, and sighed.

"I met your father at my job, fourteen years ago," she said. "He told me he had just turned twenty-one and he was going to celebrate being able to legally drink." She actually smiled, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I told him we should celebrate accordingly."

"I get it!" I said quickly, not wanting to further into the subject.

"I didn't intend to get pregnant," she informed me. "But when I did, I was… ecstatic. I always wanted children."

"Thanks?"

She went on as if she didn't hear me, lost in memory. "I had you, and I was so happy. I just wished he could be here to see you… but he didn't seem like the kind of guy to stick around for the baby." She made a wry face. "He was the flighty type. Didn't even say goodbye.

"I changed jobs and moved us here, where the rent was more affordable. Then, five years after that, I met him again." Her expression became dreamy. "Three states away and in my specific club… it's like Fate wanted us to be together!" She paused, then continued. "I didn't recognize him until I saw him walking out the door the next morning… and he'd left his ID behind, along with his tip." She giggled girlishly.

"Mom!" I complained.

"It's Jane," she corrected sharply. Then her face softened. "Do you want to see him? I kept it, all these years, for when you asked about him."

"Yeah," I said.

She left the room and came back with a small plastic card in her hand. She gave it to me, and I flipped it over, plastic worn but still slightly shiny. A serious face stared back at me, and a handsome one, too.

"He's hot!" I exclaimed.

Jane doubled over laughing, almost crying, and Star came into the room, holding her doll. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, sweetheart!" She wiped at a tear, grinning.

Star came and peeked over my shoulder. "What's that?"

"That's our dad, Star." I showed her the ID.

"He's hot!" Star looked astonished.

Jane glanced at the clock on the wall. "Damn, I'm late. Violet? Put that back on my bed when you're done looking."

I nodded, but I didn't think I'd even be done looking. I tried to memorize his features: green eyes gleaming in the camera-flash, sharp cheekbones, the slight quirk of one side of his lips. And the name I committed to memory, sometimes writing it down places so I wouldn't forget the spelling. Because now I knew my last name:

Winchester.