When I was thirteen, I set the woods beside my house on fire. It didn't spread far before my mother noticed and called the 9-1-1, but I remember the curious excitement I felt as I watched the first tree catch ablaze. All it took was a few matches. I didn't think about what it would kill or how it would harm everything around it, but I do remember thinking about how they would go away. The masked people. So, so many of them.

Of course, I didn't tell my mother that I was the one who started it. Of course, I didn't. She'd think I was insane, but she didn't see them. She didn't see them outside of our house at two in the morning. They didn't do anything. They just stood. Once, I tried to stay up and watch them, see if they would do anything and when they would leave. I stayed up all night, and I only looked away when my mother walked into the kitchen. Then, when I turned back, they were gone.

They're a figment of my imagination, I think. Or maybe they're not. Either way, I've grown used to them in some sort of weird way. They comfort me.

So, when my own house burned down only a few years later, and I ran out to see the masked figures all standing in my lawn looking unbothered, I figured I shouldn't worry either. I didn't even know these people, but I had grown up around them. The people only I could see.

I stood in the middle of them that night, and the licking of the flames danced across us all. The warmth I felt that night made me question if lighting myself on fire would hurt as much as I had thought beforehand. After all, how could something so beautiful be so deadly? And when I heard the voices of the masked people around me begin to sing, I sang with them as a hymn for the end of my home and the beginning of something new. Whatever the future held wasn't on my mind. The only thing I thought of was the heat of the flames, and the sound of my mother sobbing a few feet away.

But that didn't matter. Nothing did besides the flames.

The backseat of my mother's convertible was one of the most uncomfortable things I had ever felt in my life, especially after laying in it for hours. After our house burned down, my mother had decided that we would move states. After all, in a town as small as ours, word spread pretty quickly, and people believed I was the one who started the fire. After all, I was the quiet kid in the class who never talked to new people, and the fact that I carried around a box of matches didn't help.

I wasn't the one who started the fire, though. I don't know who did, but it wasn't me. My mother doesn't believe me, but I've only told the truth. I had no reason to lie.

Either way, here we were in her clunky old car on the way to Santa Carla. She has family here, apparently, but I wouldn't know. I've never met any of our relatives as they used to live all the way across the country, and I can't say I'm very excited about going.

I twirled a match in between my fingers and let out a quiet sigh. There was an itch in the back of my head telling me to light it, but I didn't listen. I never did. I don't know why I was so enraptured by the flames. There was just something about them that made me feel just a bit better. It was something that was often shown through my excessive amount of candles I used instead of the lights in my bedroom. (Those didn't set the house on fire, though, either. I always made sure they were out before going to bed.)

I jumped a bit as my mother glared at me through the rear-view mirror. "Put that away this instance, Ivy," she snarled, looking back at the road for a only to put her eyes back on me. I rolled my eyes but complied, sticking it in the pocket of my jean shorts. It was a dud anyway. It wasn't like it could light spontaneously.

It smelled terrible, I realized as we crossed the border into Santa Carla. It smelled terrible, and it reminded me of why I hated large bodies of water. They always carried the terrible stench of salt and death. Don't ask me why it always smelt like death, it just did. Or maybe it smelled like death because this is a place where people kill their old personalities. Or maybe people just die here. I don't know.

"Who are we living with again," I questioned as I lifted myself up into a sitting position, watching the new city pass.

"Your Aunt Jane is letting us live with her in her brick house." She emphasized the word brick as if it was going to get a reaction out of me. It didn't. "Your room is the one her kid used to have, but he's moved out now."

I nodded. "Good."

"I want you out of the house tonight so I can talk to her in peace. I don't care where you go, but I need you out until at least ten. You can unpack and then leave."

I nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you."

I knew what she was going to tell my Aunt about, and though I expected it, it still hurt just a bit. I gripped my box of matches tightly and leaned my head on the window, ready for this day to be over already.

The rest of the ride there was silent besides the radio playing recent hits. I didn't expect much more. The house, however, was very beautiful, and I looked at it in awe as we pulled up. It was huge, two-stories, and covered in all types of flowers, but it looked like it belonged. I stepped out of the car slowly and shut the door as I stared up at it. Yeah, it was definitely beautiful.

The front door to the house opened, and I heard a loud squeal as a woman with long, blonde hair stepped out and ran towards my mom. My mother opened her arms, and the woman jumped in, grinning ear-to-ear. "Oh, I missed you, Melissa," she cried.

"I missed you, as well, Jane." But she didn't really look like she missed her. She kind of just looked annoyed.

The woman who I now knew as Aunt Jane then turned to me, the grin still plastered across her face. "Oh, and look how you've grown. You look so beautiful! Gosh, the last time I saw you, you were teeny tiny. Of course, you were only about three at the time. How old are you now?"

"I'm eighteen."

Her face curled up into one that made her look like she might burst into tears. "Oh, you've grown, you've grown." She wrapped her arms around me and shook me a bit. "I've missed you so much, as well."

"I've missed you, too," I mumbled even though I have absolutely no memories of her.

She pulled away from me after another break and wiped at her face. "Now, why don't we all just go inside. Your room is on the second floor, dear. The second door on the left. Why don't you go get your stuff set up while I show your mother her room."

I thanked her quickly and pulled out my two suitcases from the back of mom's car. Not much had survived the fire, but I would find a way to get money so I could get new clothes somehow. I wonder if any place is hiring around here.

I followed Aunt Jane's instructions and made my way up the stairs easily. The second floor had only three rooms, and when I entered the second door on the left, I noticed that there was a door that led to the bathroom. There were also windows. Very large windows that looked right into

The woods.

I wonder if they'll follow me.