Piper's P.O.V.

Camp Skylark looms in the dark as Prue cuts the engine and pulls the key out of the ignition. She sits there, almost frozen, like a picture in a frame. A memory of a forgotten ago time. I try my best to keep my emotions down, but they rise as soon as I look out the front window of the car and follow the headlights. They shine on the dock that leads down to the water where Mom was…

I shouldn't think about it. I don't remember very well that day. I remember my dad sitting Prue and I down and telling us that Mommy wasn't going to be around anymore, that she was an angel, in heaven. I remember Prue sobbing at night, deep breaths that seemed to suck up all the air in the room and it still wasn't enough. I remember Phoebe not sleeping well. She had nightmares. She was just learning how to tie her shoes—Mom had taught her. I remember wondering who was going to teach her now. Prue probably did. Prue did everything when Mom died, and she was also the one who was here when she died, who holds the memories of her own mother dying.

"Guys," Phoebe whispers, careful, as if we are dancing on thin ice. She doesn't want to break the moment that has come over the car—but we have to, because Paige's life depends on it.

"Where would Sam be?" I ask, to say something, anything. To distract from the damn dock in front of us.

"Probably sleeping," Phoebe says.

"It doesn't matter if he's fucking someone," Prue says bitterly. "He's going to help us, it's his daughter for God sake."

I put a hand on Prue's forearm and squeeze. It's always been my way of calming her down, of bringing her out of her anger so she can focus again. She turns to me, grateful. Then, she turns around the Phoebe.

"Last time I was here he was staying in a cabin off of the dining hall."

"I don't remember where that is," Phoebe says slow, almost distressed. Prue unbuckles her seatbelt.

"I'll show you, Pheebs. It's okay, you'll remember."

I don't understand Phoebe's hesitation, or upset, but I follow after my sisters into the dark.

Paige's P.O.V.

Pain is strange when it's all you can feel. When it's a constant, livid thing in your reality. When it takes away your sanity piece by piece and feeds off of it, like a monster.

Another thing about pain; time doesn't exist anymore. And you can't scream forever. So when I stop screaming, it's not because I want to, its because I am pretty sure my vocal chords are being ripped from my chest. My voice leaves my body and I can't make a noise. I wish I could leave my body, which has now become a prison.

I am strapped down onto a table, candles are at my hands, head and feet, forming a pentagon. My shirt had been ripped from me and my chest is ribbons of skin and blood. I think they are using it to paint lines. In my hazy, pain filled world I have come to the conclusion that they are using me as a summoning ritual for some kind. They keep talking about my fucking blood.

I sound strange in my head. Detached. Logical. No emotion. Like I am not aware this is really happening. To be honest, I think I am just numb because if it's possible to hurt this much, I don't ever want to feel again.

Phoebe's P.O.V.

I don't remember. I should remember and I don't. This place was a part of my childhood for God's sake, Mom went here as a camper, Prue and Piper did. Well, I guess it was never a part of my childhood, seeing as they closed down the camp after Mom died, but it feels like it should be. And it makes me feel guilty that I hold no memories here, only snatched mentions from other people. It's a puzzle with too many pieces missing.

Prue leads the way while Piper holds her hand tight. I follow in the shadow of my older sisters, understanding this is hard for them. A place that was once happy that is now shrouded in darkness.

We pass a wooden building that's labelled, "Dining Hall." Or—what used to be part of the dining hall. It's rickety, and falling apart. I can see holes in the screen doors and no glass in the window frames. It must be home to the wildlife now. We go further up a path, plants and weeds snatching at my shoes, until we come to a small cottage like building. It's old, wooden and leaning slightly towards one side. It looks abandoned, but apparently, someone—Paige's fucking real biological father—lives here.

Prue marches up the steps and knocks loudly three times, when she doesn't get an answer she kicks the door in. Piper follows, and I do as well. When we step inside it's dark, a small lamp though illuminates a soft glow onto a living room.

A chair, a table and a couch—with a man sleeping on it. Prue shouts.

"Hey! Sam!" and he starts, opens his eyes, flies up in the air before landing on his feet, looking frumpy and startled. Piper's mouth is open in shock. Even Prue is speechless for once. So I step forward and ask.

"How the hell did you do that?"

Sam looks at us, horror on his face. He's a small man, a little on the heavier side. Weathered hands and face. White hair. But, he has the same nose as Paige. I cringe. I'm still getting used to the idea that we don't share the same father. We've always shared everything.

Sam gets a faraway look in his eye, as if someone is speaking to him, that we can't hear. That's when we turns back to us and gasps.

"It's Paige, isn't it."

"W…what?" Prue is finally able to say.

"Paige, she's in trouble. A lot of trouble."

"How…" Piper starts.

"I'm a white lighter."

"Wha…" I say

Sam shakes his head dismissively, grabbing a worn flannelled jacket from the side of the couch. "There's no time—I'll explain on the way."

Paige's P.O.V.

I'm sitting on the playground at school, backpack slung off one shoulder. I'm fighting away tears. Boys are mean.

"Hey," Phoebe startles me, and I look up. She frowns when she sees the tears on my face. "What are you crying for?"

"Gabe said I looked different from you and Prue and Piper. He said I was the ugly one."

Phoebe scrunches up her lip and puts her hands on her sides. "I'll beat him into a hole in the ground. I'll kill him!"

"What if he's right? I mean, red hair is ugly."

"Shut up." Phoebe snarls, and pushes my backpack off my shoulder and onto the ground. She sits beside me, scooting close and puts her face into my hair, an arm on my shoulder. She pulls me into her. "I'm the only one who can call you names and out of all the names I could call you 'ugly' would never be one of them."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the whole world. "You aren't ugly. And I only call you things that are the truth. Like lazy, a crybaby…"

"Okay," I say, pulling away from her and cracking a smile. Maybe she's right.

"Besides," Phoebe says, grinning wide, her teeth glistening in the sun. "You're beautiful."

"I am?" I ask.

"Yeah," Phoebe says jumping up. "You wanna know why?"

"Why?"

"Because everyone says you look like me and I'm beautiful, right?"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing because that's not true. Phoebe's a blonde, angry eyes that are close together, small nose, soft lips and bright cheeks. Harsh but beautiful. I have red hair, freckles and a plain face. Normal and average. Forgettable. But, maybe not ugly.

"Come on," Phoebe says, holding out her hand to me. "Let's go beat the crap out of Gabe and then play in the sandbox."

"Okay," I smile, and let her pull me along, her leading the way and me following. Me always following, because she's my sister and I trust her more than anybody.