Introduction

My name is Elizabeth Yael Emerson. I am seventeen and still growing. I look exactly like my mother. I have her eyes, structure and her unnatural will to be beautiful. I have my dad's hair, though. It makes me feel like I have an extra edge about my presence. I am half Greek and half American, my mother being of the European descent. I would be living with my mom and dad, but they died when I was four years old. I live in a small town outside of Mastiff, Wisconsin with my grandmother, Yael Moore, but I call her Grams. My parents died in an accident in my old house, and their remains were never found. I was there, but I don't know how I survived.

All I can see are his eyes and his touch. Some shapes and colors kind of come back, but their distorted and pixilated in my memories. The most perfect reason I can remember his features was because it was love at first sight. The way he held me and the way he gazed at me with such a look that showed me I was immediately in love. He rocked me back and forth when I cried. I was only four and he wasn't much nigger than I was. This was the only time I ever saw him, and I haven't seen him since. He handed me off to a pair of familiar hands and was whisked away himself. We stared at each other until he ran away. The colors of orange and brown fade to black. All that lingers from my dream are those eyes.

Ch 1 – Getting ready for School

I slide my hand under my pillow in search of my alarm clock. I grab my phone and squeeze it until the buzzing stops and I hear the snooze button chime. I roll over in bed to turn on the radio to my favorite station. My favorite song comes on and I hear the beginning chords to Eyes in Love, by Lookers Down.

"Lizzie? Are you up darling?" my Grams chimes from below.

"Yes ma'am." I answer loud enough to where I have a head rush afterwards.

"Ok. I'm making breakfast, so hurry up." She was an amazing cook. I wanted to wake up now.

I stretch. I hum the last few lines of my first song of the day. I throw my covers off me and twist in my bed to where my feet are hanging over the side. I'm not superbly tall, but I'm no midget either. My height comes from my long legs. I bring one up to my chest to see if I need to shave, and all hairs point to yes.

I slide out of bed and walk to my closet. My room used to be a kitchen with a huge pantry, but when I was twelve my Grams moved the house around and gave me a new room with an awesome closet. I looked at my assortment of clothes, boots and bags. Grams always had a way to get me used designer bags in perfect shape. I had everything from Gucci to Louis Vuitton. I never use them unless Grams asks me about it. The one I almost always use is a black Gucci that has whimsical paint splatters in silver and gold. It holds all my pencils, books, folders, and random packs of pop tarts. It always matches what I wear in some way, because I wear black a lot. It matches mid-back length my dark blonde-but-not-yet-brown hair. It's my favorite accessory to having a good day.

I grab my green and blue acid washed shirt, my dark blue denim skinny jeans and my white Jimmy Choo suede boots. I took them to the bathroom, and laid them on the sink before I started my shower. I undressed from my fleece PJ's and kicked them at the laundry basket. I stepped into the shower and immediately felt better. There's nothing like a warm shower to wake you from the blackness of sleep. I shampooed and conditioned my hair with the last of my Strawberry Champagne soap and sat down to shave my legs. I lathered on a thin coat of body wash, and took one swipe up my leg. When I washed off the blade, I felt a sudden chill and shivered. I was about to go through a warp of a vision.