When I grew up, I heard the same questions, over and over again.

How is your dad so tall, so muscular?

How old is your dad?

What happened to your mom's face?

Yeah, the last one was a comforting one.

I wanted to answer, trust me, I did,

But what was I supposed to say?

"Oh, yeah, she got a clawed by a werewolf.
Which, y'know, happens to be my dad, too."

Seriously, now. I wouldn't trade my popularity for that.

It got harder everyday, especially when I entered high school.

That's when they came, carrying him along.

That's also when the phasing began.