Angela was never a normal child. When other little girls were playing endless games of cat's cradle and having tea parties with imaginary friends, Angela preferred to spend her time watching. The webs that people wove between themselves fascinated her.

As she got older, she learned that pulling on one string in the web would cause others to move. It became a game, to see what she could make people around her do, what she could make them believe. She practiced with everyone, especially her family. Her parents thought she was the perfect child: never in trouble, never short-tempered, never embarrassing. It was an image she worked to maintain, first because it allowed her to have what she wanted, and later because maintaining the image served as its own amusement.

Angela's teenage years brought her entrée into society, which brought new challenges. Here, there were people who truly mattered. Manipulating them brought real rewards, rather than a mere sense of satisfaction. For her fifteenth birthday, she asked her parents to let her invest in the stock market. They were reluctant, especially when she chose to sink all the money they gave her into a nascent company, Yamagato Enterprises. They were stunned and delighted when it became a multi-million dollar corporation.

Angela laughed privately at her parents' naïveté. They moved in some of the most influential social circles on the planet, but they didn't even realize their own power. There was nothing special about Yamagato Enterprises. The stock simply fit her price range, and the CEO wasn't too stubborn. Then, she had simply guided the right people in the right direction. It was shockingly easy.

Indeed, it was too easy. As Angela discovered how easy it was to make money, it lost all its appeal. Even if she had never made a cent in her own right, she would have been wealthy by inheritance. After several similar feats of manipulation, she was rich to a degree where acquiring more money simply wasn't interesting. Likewise, she quickly became so influential that getting further power was too easy to occupy her time.

Then, one day, she discovered that her vivid dreams were coming true. Developing her talents occupied her for a while. The future was liquid, and didn't interest her, but the past was fascinating. Really, the future was always a mere product of the past. When she was in a Jesuit grade school, her teacher recited a quote: "Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man." Actually, Angela thought that might be later than necessary. Children who cheated in games became adults who cheated on their spouses. Children who liked to bully others became adults who delighted in holding power. Nothing really changed; childish misdeeds simply got a façade of respectability painted onto them.

For a while, Angela made a game of guessing people's past and their futures. She became keenly aware of the tiny moves and looks and ways of speaking which tell much more about a person than a thousand words. Yet, this entertainment too paled with time. It became so easy that she scarcely needed to consult her dreams to understand a person. In short, Angela was bored. Then, she met Arthur.

Arthur Petrelli was nouveau riche. At first, Angela dismissed him as simply another popinjay, a fool who would spend his newfound money quickly and disappear from high society. But something about him interested her. It was not simply his power; she knew there were many others with powers in the world. But he had a vision. He offered a new challenge, something to occupy her mind and talents.

Angela knew Arthur was not as intelligent as she, but his idea offered her something she needed. She devoted herself wholeheartedly to his cause, not because she believed in it, but because it was something to do. She knew it was dangerous, and she knew it could end badly, not only for them, but for the world. But she convinced herself that she did care about his cause as he cared about it. Likewise, she told herself that she cared about him, that she loved him. She even almost believed it.

As Arthur stopped his rant to cough violently, he looked at her in stunned suspicion.

"I lied," Angela said bitterly. "It's not your mother's recipe."

Arthur looked at her with shock for a moment before he collapsed on the ground.

Angela sipped her wine. Why? Why had she even let herself pretend? She knew the truth. She knew that she was a manipulator. She knew that she would allow both her sons to be killed if it was necessary. But not this way. Not for the sake of one man's foolish pride.

It was ironic, really. She was crying, but not for Arthur, and not for her sons. She was crying for herself. She knew she was a monster, and she knew that she would remain so. Children never really change, after all. And the truth was, she didn't really care.