Mother had been sitting outside on the porch all evening. Even after dinner, when the sun had gone down and the air was cold. She was wrapped up in an old blanket – the one we had made together, our project. She was beautiful, my mother. We had the same red hair, the same sharp eyes. But there was a stiffness to her that never let go.

Dad had gone to bed already. But I was awake – because mother was awake. I was tied to her in everything. I went down the stairs, wearing my pajamas – she had put me to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I felt that something was different – with her, with us. But I didn't know why.

When I opened the front door and she saw me, her eyes were wide and alert in the dark, but she smiled tiredly as I stepped forward.

"Honey, go back inside. It's cold."

"But you're here."

"I am waiting for someone."

"Can I wait with you?"

I sat beside her on the wooden bench, looking out into the darkness of the forest around us. Even with the asphalted road just five meters ahead, the streetlamps that were brightly lit – it couldn't hide the wilderness that overpowered everything. Forks was like that, the forest always waiting.

"What are we waiting for?"

"It doesn't matter. They won't come. I don't think they'll come..."

She was scared. I had never seen her like that before, I realized. She hugged me tight to her side, and we continued to sit there, waiting. I fell asleep at some point, the warmth of her and the blanket around my shoulders comforting.

I awoke to the sound of her voice – and someone else. A voice I recognized. An older man. I barely opened my eyes to see my grandfather, sitting in a chair opposite us, smiling. His beard was greying, and so was his hair. He was an old man, yet he had the air of someone much younger. He used to come visit us in the spring. Mother did not seem happy to see him.

"Father, this does not have to be done anymore. It is a too old tradition."

"I understand your reluctance. Keeping her here, far away from the rest of the world. It is what I almost did, remember?"

"It has never happened. Nobody in our lineage, for more than a century, has ever been like the first. "

"Not including you."

They were silent for a long moment, mother's breath too loud – like there was not enough air for her to take in.

"Just give her the necklace. She has to be given the mark."

"No. I don't want to do it. "

"If you don't, then I won't be responsible for what the others will do. You know that."

That was the last thing he said that night.

Two weeks later, she woke me in the middle of the night.

Her eyelids were too purple. Her skin was strained and her eyes frantic, gathering my clothes in a small rucksack, helping me to put on a warm coat and boots by the door. She didn't lock the door behind us as we left – left dad. Left our home.

"Where are we going mommy?" I asked, tugging on her hand that was holding mine so tightly. We were walking too fast. She barely glanced at me over her shoulder.

"Shush, be quiet now. Stay quiet."

Her hand was holding me too tight, and I winced. She unlocked our car and rushed me over to the passenger side. She kept the headlights turned off as we drove quietly down the street. I started to cry.

"No honey, it's okay. We're going to be okay – just go to sleep."

"I can't."

"Rebecca, I am only doing this to keep you safe. You want to be safe, don't you?

I shook my head at her, terrified. Tears were streaming down my face and I wanted daddy. I did not like mommy like this – I was scared.

Because she had been looking at me, she failed to see the person that stood in the middle of the road ahead of us. His eyes were shining in the dark, with light reflected from nowhere. He spread his arms wide and smiled at us – at me.

That's the last time I ever saw my mother. I don't know what happened afterwards, but the next morning I woke up in my bed. And mother was gone.