AN: Alright, here we go. This is a post-BD. How post-BD will be explained later. I have to thank StateofDelusion for betaing and LolaCullenx for pre-reading. I couldn't have gotten this far without them.

Chapter One

Prelude 12/24

This is what I thought so think me naive,

I promise you a heart you'd promise to keep,

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

-AFI

The dark smoke curled around the bottoms of their cloaks. It created a stark contrast with the white snow that covered the ground. The three figures stood eerily still, waiting for something that I couldn't see. Their hoods hid their faces from sight. I had no idea who they were or where they came from. The hooded figures never changed. It was always three of them, about the same height, with no other discernible features. I had no idea who they were. Doctor Scordato told me that they were figments made by my mind to represent my fears, or missing family members, or some shit like that. I had never believed him. Somewhere out there, these three existed.

"You're back on that, Sar." The deep, almost raspy voice jolted me back to the high school lunch room. My best friend, Brendon, took my drawing pad out from under my hands and studied the three figures, the snow that rippled under their feet, and the towering pines behind them. Even in shades of pencil gray there was something ominous about the picture. "I thought that shrink the state made you see cured you of this?"

"He was an idiot," I muttered, picking at my salad, not the least bit hungry. Brendon was now plowing through his hamburger, while I slapped my notebook closed. "I swear he was two sessions away from telling me that the image represented my need to kill my mother, or some Freudian shit like that. Never mind, I don't even know my mother."

Brendon snorted, more than used to my odd outbursts. "He's just a cheap quack so that the state can say that they take care of their orphans."

And that was what we were—orphans. We had lived in a dozen different homes in the Seattle area between us in the course of our lives. Brendon's mother had dropped him off at a fire station when he was three, and he hadn't seen her since. He'd seen his father as a head stone in an overcrowded cemetery. He died of an overdose.

My origins were even stranger. I was handed to a nurse at the Union General Hospital by a stranger. He told her my name and birth date, and then left without another word. I was six months old.

Brendon and I met when we were six and were placed in the same foster home. We'd been moved about a lot since then, but had managed to remain friends. We had even gone to high school together.

I shrugged off my memories and focused on the now. "Yeah, well, that quack isn't going to get to me. It's just a picture. It'll fade eventually."

Brendon smiled teasingly. "Sar, you've been drawing that for as long as I can remember. I don't think it's going anywhere. It just means that you're a little messed up in the head and that's okay."

I took a bite of my apple and spoke around the bright, red skinned remains. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, they really are some creepy dudes." And then Brendon spent the next fifteen minutes filling me in on the locker room gossip. It seemed that the idiot from the football team was going out with the whore from the cheerleader squad. I really didn't care, but it kept my mind—always over active but meds didn't help—occupied. I picked at my food, but didn't really eat anything.

I couldn't wait to get out of here. It was the last half of the spring semester—February and I would graduate in May. After the summer, I would be out of the foster care home and into the dorms at Washington State were Brendon and I had scored scholarships. Then life would start happening. Life would be different.

"Sar, you all right?" His voice jolted me back to reality again. "You've been really quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine. My mind is just somewhere else." I stood up and gathered my trash. "Come on. We don't want to be late for English Lit again. Mr. Wilson will have our heads."

We had to race to class and only just managed to make it through the door in time. However, it wasn't old Mr. Wilson. It was a new teacher. He was young. I almost mistook him for a student before I realized he was behind the teacher's desk. His skin was pale, almost stark white, like the snow I had drawn earlier. He was tall and lanky, but clearly well built with broad shoulders and an angular face. His hair was an odd reddish brown color, like a copper pipe and in complete disarray on his head. I noticed he wore a wedding band, but he looked so young.

More than anything physical, though, I was struck by an odd sense of familiarity. It was so strong that I stopped dead in my tracks in the doorway. I knew that I had never seen him before, but all I wanted to do was run into his arms and thank him for coming back and rescuing me. It was weird and highly unnerving.

"Sar, you okay?" Brendon asked worriedly. It was rare that I showed any kind of emotion, much less shock.

"Yeah, I'm good." I muttered and followed him to our usual seats in the middle of the room. I'm just having an episode, I told myself. There is nothing to him, just a new teacher.

"Alright, everyone take your seats." His voice was rich and muted, like melted velvet with an odd cadence that settled over me like a blanket. I felt like I had heard it before somewhere, but I couldn't place where. "Mr. Wilson has had to leave unexpectedly, so I will be your new English Literature teacher. I'm Anthony Swan. You may call me Mr. Swan. Now, I'm going to call roll. Please listen for your name."

As he started roll calling, I studied him. I was both confused and weary of this, whatever it was I was feeling. It was almost warm and fuzzy. I hated warm and fuzzy. Warm and fuzzy only spelled trouble. Bad things happened when you felt warm and fuzzy. It put you off you're guard and made you complacent. Warm and fuzzy was not good.

Slowly I managed to figure out what was bothering me about him. It was his eyes that seemed, well, different. They were golden, not quite yellow but lighter than butterscotch. I had never seen anyone with that color eyes. I supposed he could have had them done surgically, but there was nothing else that would make me think that. I had had a foster father who had his eyes dyed red but the color had leeched into his whites. It was creepy. However, I couldn't see any evidence of that.

It was more than just the color, however. They seemed ancient, like they belonged on someone much older than Mr. Swan, and that was unnerving. They were heavy and deep with everything from remorse, to regret, to just shear sadness. I had to look away before I got caught staring, but I swear there was more to Mr. Swan than met the eye. I would remember this day as the day my entire life changed with just three words.

"Sarah Black?"

"Here."

AN: Okay, what did you think? I know its a little different but I really hope you can stick in there with me. I promise the characters you know and love are in here some where. I'm really excited about this. I don't know how often I'm going to be able to update but I promise I will do it as often as I can.

Leave me a review and let me know you thought. Till next time!