It can be rather touching; when someone tells you they love you

It can be rather touching; when someone tells you they love you. Of course, they never mean it. But it's nice to hear them say it, to hear them say they care, because one day they won't and you'll always have that moment.

At least, that's what I thought until two weeks ago.

Excuse me, I do not believe I have introduced myself. Isabella Cullen, gender girl, age forever 18, and human… I don't think so. Hmm, maybe too obscure. I'll start from the beginning.

Though the beginning isn't much. A small Chicago girl at the turn of the century, with dreams and fears and crushes like any regular human girl. Being 17, I daydreamed when I could, and read way too many books. By the time my next birthday had arrived, I was into folklore and all that crap, and that's when it started.

The year I turned 18.

The year I turned 18 was 1912, and the world felt right. I was grown up, I would soon take charge of my life, and the choices around me were great ones. It was with great abandon I got on a train and traveled to New York, the city of dreams. Blind as I was, I never knew that when I waved my handkerchief at my parents at the train station it would be the last time I would see them. I didn't realize that on the train I was on was one of the many beings I had memorized by reading them through the text.

I didn't realize that I would never eat, or breathe, or have dreams and fears and crushes like any normal 18-year-old. But here I am, being carried away again. Back to the facts.

There were many a few people on the train. Having nothing better to do, I memorized the faces of all of them, their clothes, and their emotions. Though to this day I don't remember quite clearly, I am fairly positive there was a old lady with a grouchy expression and a gray hat. What was peculiar about this gray hat, though, was that there was a large stuffed vulture on top, and I had to hold in my laughter quite stubbornly lest I offend the old woman by voicing my merriment out loud. The others I do not care to remember, but I do remember a tall, blonde haired man with a serious yet kind expression.

It's hard not to forget him, considering he is now my foster father. But it was the boy beside him, with amber hair, who caught my attention. It was a little while before he realized I was staring, and as soon as he did, I looked elsewhere, my cheeks turning red of their own accord.

Those there was something that disturbed me when he looked away again; I realized his eyes were blood-red, and they had an indescribable hunger in them, almost too unnatural to be considered normal.

But I pushed it to the back of my mind.

My biggest mistake.