Anwen Williams stared out the dirty glass window. It seemed that this bloody class would never end, and that she was going to literally die of boredom. She brushed
her dyed black hair out of her eyes and continued to stare out the window until white spots began to dance in front of her eyes. Her itchy knee socks scratched, and
her skirt was too damn short, you could bloody almost see her knickers! Anwen blinked her bright sapphire eyes quickly and waited for them to fade out. The bell
rung and the vibrations traveled up her spine, as slow as a snail. She quickly grabbed her books and dodged the people hanging out in the hallway. Bloody, St.
Agnes's, she thought. Why she had to come here she had no idea. This school was basically for sluts and perverts alike, as well as complete idiots. She literally felt
like she was the only virgin in the entire building, including the teachers. Anwen opened her locker and tried to avoid the couple going at it in the next locker. She
quickly grabbed her books, muttering curses to herself quite fast, which were none too pleasant, at least to a person who would understand Welsh that is. She swept
her hair out of her face again and felt chills coming up her spine and trickling down her back. Being as anti-social as usual and refusing to talk to anyone, she ran out
the door, gagging at the thought at the couple next to her locker.
"Go to America! It'll be fun and a good experience Anny, darling!" Anwen said in a chipper voice, mimicking the social worker while walking home, or at least the
closest thing to a home. She hated thinking about her real home, since there was nothing left for her. Anwen's parents were dead, or at least that's what they told
her. Gwen and Rhys Williams, her amazing and absolutely wonderful parents, who would tell her stories every night, who would tuck her into bed at night, and her
mother would leave her a cup of hot chocolate in the night, despite the fact that Anwen wasn't supposed to after her bed time. They were cops, and they were killed
on the job while chasing a criminal. Countless people told her that her parents were brave, how they were so sorry for her loss, etc. She didn't really understand,
after all she was only seven. Seven and so naïve on what was shown in front of her, the death certificate, the will of her parents, or where she would go. She hated
when people gave her the "poor thing" eyes or the, "you must feel awful" pout. They didn't feel sorry, and Anwen didn't want their pity. Anwen wondered if the social
worker still over did that awful shade of maroon lipstick. Half of the time it ended up on her teeth. Anwen continued walking, and felt as chilly breeze and roughly and
none too gently pulled her oversized jacket further over her shoulders. It was only bloody September. She thought. How could it be chilly so early? America was so
damn confusing, with their hopes and dreams. In class, Anwen refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance. No matter how many times she got in trouble, she wouldn't
say it. Her allegiance was to the U.K., and always would be. Anwen carefully looked behind her. She always had this weird feeling she was being watched…for no
reason. Anwen picked up the pace, "home" was only one mile away, but it seemed that it would be a lifetime before she got home, or maybe a millennia. Of course,
her home was all the way in Wales, so it was in a way several light-years away. She felt the chill come over her again, like death tracing his cold fingers down her
neck and nipping at her inner fears, confirming every single one of them, just like her parents death had done. Suddenly, the chills traced up her back and shocked
her, like an electric shock, like a sensor that had gone off inside her head. "Miss Williams, what are you doing out alone?" a voice asked behind her.
Anwen spun around. The voice was like silk, caressing and carried an edge of suspicion and dark humor, as if the night could speak. The figure wore a black hoodie
and covered his face, obscuring it from view, but if she looked closely, she thought she could see a glowing red light. He wore black skinny jeans with a leather
studded belt, and wore a pair of Vans. Anwen slowly inched away, remembering that stupid rule on not to talk to strangers. As it got closer, Anwen thought she felt
her energy dying, slowly getting sucked out of her, like a vacuum. "H-how do you know my name..? She asked suspiciously. The figure came a bit closer. "Oh, I knew
your mother… quite well in fact." Anwen growled softly. The figure laughed. It was a frightful and awful sound, like metal being shredded, or the sound of fabric
tearing itself apart, like hell itself was mocking and scorning her. But there was something about his voice that sounded familiar, almost as if she had known it and
heard it before. Of course, Anwen did not know the names or voices of psychopaths that followed random girls home and claimed they knew her mother, highly
doubting her mother knew psychopaths. Assuming her mother wasn't a psychopath, which could be possible… but knowing what she knew of her mother, that would
be a no. "So if you did know her…what was her name? Highly doubting you know, you blimey stalker!" "Such spitfire, Yes indeed, my dear, you are her daughter! "
Anwen slowly inched away, feeling his presence draining her even more than before, sucking out, and killing her. "Your mother's name was Gwen Cooper, or Williams
after she got married, but she chose to keep her maiden name." he said with an edge of deadly humor in his voice. "Who the bloody hell are you and what do you
want?!" she asked, her voice trembling on every word. This guy really did know her mother, he really actually knew her! Probably some sort of criminal that her
mother put in jail, and wanted revenge, well, she hoped not. Anwen felt fear closing in on her throat, like an invisible hand was choking her. He came closer reaching
out and touching her face with his pale hand, caressing it almost, longingly, almost hungrily. "That is quite easy to explain, and if you're in a hurry, assuming you're
not, I could do it in a sentence." He said with a hint of a smirk. The figure lifted its hood, revealing the figure's face, as pale as his hands, but undeniably handsome,
and his eyes as red and deadly as fire, blazing out power, death and revenge. "I'm Owen Harper, and I want you, and your power."