I was not expecting that answer. That instant, everything seemed unreal and unfamiliar to me.

Was Joyce actually trying to pull a prank on me? Maybe I am on a show that will be broadcasted to millions… I thought dazedly, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for what my mother had just told me. Maybe I just heard her say "witch" instead of another word like… No, 'bitch' can't be right. My own mother would never call me that, not in a million years. A sick sort of dread was gathering in the pit of my stomach.

"I-I-I'm… a witch?" I stuttered to Joyce with slowly dawning shock and disbelief.

Joyce nodded her head agonizingly slow, confirming that I am, in fact, a "witch". Her green eyes appraised me, taking in all of my movements and expressions, trying to look for something – I just didn't know what.

I swallowed and tried to take some deep, calming breaths. Only this time it didn't work.

"E-explain." I managed to croak out, unable to keep my voice steady as I was on the edge of hysterics. Maybe I'm just going insane. All the fame has to go to my head at some point.

My mother pressed her lips into a thin line. "Well, where do I start?"

I just stared silently into her emerald eyes as she took a sip of iced tea and tapped her long, pale fingers against the armrest of her chair.

Joyce coughed to clear her throat and set the cup back on the table. "Well, you are a witch by blood. I am a witch, my mother was a witch, her mother was a witch and so on." She paused and took a hold of both of my hands. "Do you understand what I'm saying so far, Briella?"

"I think I do." I whispered back.

"Good. We are the direct line of witches that descend from Hecate, the witch queen. From Hellewise, who was Hecate's daughter, and the daughter after her, we are all witches by blood. Each daughter from our line is an only child and will bear a daughter of their own before they can die, understand?"

"I guess. So you, and I guess me too, will only have one child, which would be a daughter, and then we die?" My voice trembled with the thought of my mom dying. Is that why she brought me here? To say goodbye? To tell me what to expect of myself?

"Oh no. No, no, no Briella. We don't have to die after we have our daughter. It's just that we can't die until we have a daughter. This is because of the prophecy our ancestors put on us so our line would never end." She said softly, breaking out a small smile.

"Oh. Ok then." Relief washed over me, filling the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

"Want me to continue?" Joyce asked.

"Yes please." At least it wasn't the worse news imaginable. Mom is going to be alright.

I shakily picked up a slice of watermelon and bit into it, wiping away the juice that escaped the juicy piece.

"We are the Chosen Ones because we are the most powerful line of witches in recorded history. We are the peacemakers in the world. We try to keep the balance with the help of our powers. But beware Briella. There are others out there who want to destroy the balance because of their greed and selfishness. One line of witches particularly." She gripped my hand even tighter and had such an intense look in her eyes that I had to set down my watermelon.

"They are the Marked Ones. They are the opposite of us; they want power instead of peace. We Chosen Ones are all females, as you can probably see, and they, the Marked Ones, are all males. They have had a similar prophecy to ours laid upon their line for ages so that their line was never-ending. Briella, they are evil. Bad. Awful. Cruel. Selfish. Uncari-"

"Uncaring? I think I got the point, mom. The Marked Ones aren't very good." I interrupted her. "But what does it have to do with us?"

"The Chosen Ones have always overpowered the Marked Ones, but not by a lot. The Marked Ones are the second most powerful witch line in history and they are after us. They want us to be partnered with them so they can have the most power in the universe. But we don't want that. If we did that, the balance would be disrupted and that is horrible in itself. Too much power. Too much destruction. Too much death. And if we have a child with them, then they will control the child to do their biddings. Imagine, Briella, the child of the two most powerful lines of witches in history being controlled by the Marked Ones." She carefully released my hand. "Imagine what that would be like, Briella." Joyce said solemnly.

And I did imagine the scenario so vividly that it sent little shivers of disgust up and down my spine. Very quietly I said, "Then what do I do about it?" as I closed my eyes, trying to push away the nasty images my imagination had conjured up for me.

She seemed to relax into the armchair, even though it was only by a small fraction. Still, she kept her steady gaze upon me. "There's only one main thing you have to do, and it's very simple."

I sighed in frustration. "And what exactly would that be?"

"Don't tell anyone that you're a witch, let alone the Chosen One of this generation. If anyone finds out, you could ruin whatever plans you had in mind for your future or the Marked Ones will track you down. And chances are that both possibly could happen." She smiled dryly. "At least you wouldn't get burned to death like the innocents of the Salem witch trials some centuries ago."

"No problem, mom." I wouldn't want to say anything anyway…I'm a big enough freak as I already am. I added mentally. Then some of her words snatched my attention.

"Mom, what about the Salem witch trials?"

Joyce hung her head low, as if she were acknowledging the deaths and tragedies that were caused by the trials, then lifted her head and put on a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The Salem witch trials killed innocent humans that were accused of witchcraft, but really, our line was the real witches they were looking for. Although the accusations were completely and utterly false, we strive to bring peace not destruction, the real witches escaped Salem before anyone found out. So there you go: one reason not to tell anyone your true identity. They could, quite literally, kill you. Good thing that you haven't had a daughter yet – the prophecy can keep you safe until then."

"Is that why you named our cat Salem? I'm a bit curious." Somehow, throughout all of these explanations, I was becoming stronger – strong enough to handle the burden of this secret I've been placed with, that is.

Joyce laughed. "Yes, I named our cat Salem after the Salem witch trials because the witch trials is a big part of our history – might as well remember it." She sighed and motioned Salem to her lap, and I noticed that the little black cat was already stretching out its limbs and climbing off the couch, padding its way to Joyce. Just like a good little puppy…I thought and I had a sudden urge to giggle at the irony, but I managed to swallow it down.

Once Salem crawled into my mother's lap, I noticed the striking resemblance my mom had to Salem. First, they both had the same emerald tint in their eyes. Second, Joyce's hair was the exact texture of Salem's fur; black, glossy and straight. And third, the one similarity that truly freaked me out, was that they seemed to totally understand each other. Which was definitely weird. Not to mention that they moved gracefully and swiftly, and I am not capable of doing that – I'd trip or stumble every couple of metres here and there.

"Umm…" I muttered, wondering how to voice my thoughts properly. "Mom, do you and Salem understand each other? Like, actually communicating and knowing what the other is trying say?" There. I said it. I won't mind if she thinks her witch-and-disgustingly-too-famous-superstar-teenage daughter is mentally insane… I thought, knowing very well that I was thinking beyond the norms of sane teenage thoughts.

"Well, of course we do!" My mom looked flustered and surprised, and a bit pleased. I wondered if she actually wanted me to know this little fact too.

"So…can you please explain that?" I asked.

"It's because of a spell I did to help me understand Salem better. I can hear her speak if she wants me to hear, but she can understand me all the time, even when I don't want her to." She paused, looked at my confused face, then continued. "When Salem doesn't want to be understood, and she speaks, all I can hear is what everyone else can hear. Which, of course, would be a 'meow' or something along those lines." Joyce gave a gentle smile to the dark cat she was petting on her lap.

"Wait, wait, wait! So you mean that you can understand Salem's cat talk? But only when she wants you to understand what she's saying, right?" This was all so confusing! My mom could talk to Salem and vice versa? Our black kitty? Whoa. I was on the verge of a major headache.

Joyce glanced back up at me, one perfect black brow arched over her emerald eyes. "Why, yes. Why do you think people associate cats, especially black cats, with witches?"

"Um…I think I understand." But my mind was screaming "I don't understand a thing!".

"Briella, do you want the ability to communicate with Salem? It'll only take a moment since there's two of us. And this would be your first spell you would partake in!" My mom's face lit up with so much excitement that I couldn't possibly say no.

"Sure, mom, but do I have to actually do anything?" If so, then what? What would I do? I just learned ten minutes ago that I was a witch! This is so confusing.

"Just do what I say, okay?" Her voice now serious, but I could feel her holding in her excitement.

"Okay."

She lifted Salem up off her lap, and whispered what I think was "Stay right here. We're about to begin!" to her, picked up the silver tray, placed it on the counter of our new kitchen, and settled back into the brown chair across from me. Then Joyce hoisted Salem up onto the spot on the coffee table where the tray once had been. She motioned me to lay both my hands on top of the cat's back just as she did. Once I placed my clumsy hands on the right spot, Joyce started chanting in a language I could only guess as Latin.

"Now repeat after me, Briella; 'tribuo vestri filia hic ops sermo ut successio of vestri cattus'." How in the world am I going to say that whole sentence when I only heard it once? I wondered.

Somehow, the words dripped off my tongue with ease, as if I knew what I was doing, which I didn't.

Joyce nodded encouragingly at me and I felt a swell of pride. Maybe Latin just comes naturally to me, even though I didn't know what I was doing

"In the name of the witch queen, our mother, Hecate, we ask that no harm is done when our power is unleashed. Now repeat this Briella," she took a small breath and said, "Gratias ago vos."

Now that I can repeat! It's so short…I rejoiced.

I opened my mouth and said "Gratias ago vos". Suddenly, I felt a strange tingling rushing through me from my hands, which were laying on top of Salem's back. The strange tingling got stronger, rushing through my hands into me then back through me to Salem. The exchange of power kept bouncing between the black cat and me until the tingling faded to a dull nothingness. I was surprised; I hadn't known it was power causing the tingling. But somehow, in my subconscious or otherwise, I knew.

I looked up to my mother, who was looking at me the exact same way Chad did in the car before Kesha's "Tik Tok" interrupted us. With pride and happiness. I squirmed and fell back into the couch, utterly exhausted.

"Salem is very wise you know. She'll give you the best advice and friendship when she wants to." Joyce said softly, once again picking up Salem into her lap and petting her.

Salem purred and 'meowed' before shutting her eyes. She's lucky, I thought, she gets to sleep even though I feel more exhausted…I think I feel more exhausted, don't I?

"You're concert grand piano is over in the next room, Briella. And the music books are in the built-in bookshelf beside it."

"Oh, and by the way, please explain all this," I waved my arms around the room, "because last time it looked normal, not…well…this."

"Long story short: Chad wanted you to feel at home, well, your home in Phoenix that is. So he and his girlfriend-"

"Penelope." I supplied for her.

"And Penelope called a few interior designers they knew and they set all this up. Chad said they were sworn to secrecy so they won't reveal your location." Joyce sighed.

I groaned silently. I should've known. If Chad gave me my car from Phoenix, why not my house, too?

"So…are you going to wake me up everyday? Before I injure myself in my sleep you know." I added hastily.

My mom knew that when I slept, most of the time I would either sleep talk or sleepwalk. And when I sleepwalk, add to that my natural clumsiness; it's a very dangerous combination. But when I sleep talk, it's equally horrifying because I have no control over what I say or even sing. So whenever I'm sleeping near my mom, she would wake me up before things got hazardous to my health.

Joyce regarded me with pity clear in her eyes. "Sorry honey, but I have to work everyday. Full time job; wake up early, come home late. Keeps me busy so I won't have to feel very lonely." She ran a hand through her perfect black hair. "I'm really sorry. But I bought you a very loud alarm clock so you won't even notice me gone."

"Can you remind me of what you do again? I kind of have forgotten." I grinned wearily.

"I'm not a specialist of some sort, you know that. I'm the head of nurses in the hospital here. Which means I've got to get going soon. Do you want anything to eat?" She questioned me with concern, much again like I was a patient with a broken nose.

I was dog tired and lost my appetite somewhere in the middle of our conversation, so just I shook my head and Joyce got up, grabbed her coat and petted Salem one last time. "I'll be back sooner or later. If you want anything, there's a bunch of microwavable entrées in the fridge. Love you, sweetheart!" She said in a rush as she grabbed her purse, keys and shoes and headed out the blue door.

"Love you, too, mom…" I whispered as the door slammed shut, leaving me and Salem alone.

Joyce was the head nurse of the Forks hospital so she's needed at all times, which means that I would be home alone a lot. Oddly enough, I can't stand her job as a nurse. I can sum up all my problems with being a nurse with one word: blood. I faint just at the sight or smell of it, and my head gets strangely woozy whenever the word "blood" is mentioned. I think it has to do with some film I did in my early days. It was a horror flick - full of murderers, missing limbs and blood. When I saw the featuring actress get splattered with fake blood across her "missing" leg, I sprinted for the nearest bush and threw up all my guts on it for a whole hour. After that, I fainted and the director found me just in time to do my scene, which was about five hours later. Since then, I couldn't stand blood, even fake blood, so every time there was blood involved with a scene, I would be excused from the set until it was over.

I toured around the house that I should've recognized but now has become an unfamiliar stranger. Joyce should've given me a map of this place. I had to admit that it was a mansion, even though the exterior looks like a two bedroom, one bathroom kind of house. Deliberately putting one foot in front of another to keep me from stumbling, I entered the room that Joyce has said contained my concert piano. The room was white and massively large so the darkness of my piano stood out like a sore thumb.

I walked up to it, running my fingers against the hard ivory keys. Sighing, I sat down and played myself a lullaby or two. Little did I know that Salem was watching me intently – too intently to look like a ordinary cat.

Once the melody ended with a ritardando, I constructed my way through each luxurious room to the main foyer, with its grand sweeping staircase and chandelier. One step at a time, one step at a time, I chanted to myself, willing to keep my grip on the railing and keep my balance steady.

I found my room in an instant, but it didn't look exactly like my room before, although it still had my favourite lavender paint around the walls. My room was bigger and my bed was so humongous that it could've been custom-made to be one king size and a half. The window overlooking the grey looking sky and lonely driveway had a dark purple window bench, so I dragged myself onto it, staring out to nothing in particular, letting the tears stream silently down my cheeks.

I'm a witch. A very powerful witch. A witch that holds everyone's fate in her hands. A witch that already has a big enough burden to bear. I'm a superstar in hiding. A talented person shying away from the crowd. A coward. I'm a coward. And I'm just an ordinary teenage girl! Why me? Why not someone else? I let my thoughts ramble on as I laid my overheated forehead on the cool pane of glass until an unfamiliar voice stopped me in my tracks.

"It will all be well, Gabriella. Do not take this out on yourself. It is not your fault." The voice was of a woman's, soft and sympathetic, gentle and caring. Almost like Joyce's voice, but yet, it wasn't.

I turned my unseeing gaze to Salem, shocked speechless. Salem chuckled, although it seemed between a laugh and a purr. "Yes, I do speak indeed. Now you must rest so you may have enough energy to attend your new schooling tomorrow." She jumped up on the bench next to me and stared at me until I felt like her emerald eyes were boring holes inside of me.

High school – yet another stress added to my stressful life, I thought tiredly, scooping up Salem in my right arm, I headed to my giant bed and collapsed. I didn't care that I didn't change into my pyjamas or that I haven't eaten at all. All I wanted was to escape my life. I welcomed the darkness that enveloped me as I fell into a dreamless sleep.


A/N - Please review! I'd like to have at least 5 reviews to know that this story is well liked and appreciated. Next chapter will be about Briella's first day of school! I'll try not to keep you all waiting! Or...

Okay? If you haven't read that little tidbit of an A/N (argh! tidbit ... ) then I will repeat. R.E.V.I.E.W! Or else I will not update for more than a month! And yes, that's a threat on both sides because it pains me not to work on this little fanfic I have here...*snifle*

Main idea: REVIEW then you can get the next chappy faster! ;)

Oh, and tench u (little phrase my friend Mona uses. You know who you are... :p) for reading this far! :D You can tell me if you want more or not by... yep, REVIEWING! That's the ONLY solution. To review. Got it? o_O

Lemme phrase that again... PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I PASS EVERY WAKING MINUTE WAITING FOR A DANG REVIEW! I AM NOTHING, I repeat (what is with me and repeating things?), NOTHING! SO REVIEW PLEASE! Or the chapters will be held at bay...

5 DANG REVIEWS! That's ALL it takes to get me moving! Please? *puppy dog eyes*

Yes, tell your friends and whatsoever. I just need 5 reviews! It REALLY IS A BARGAIN! *sales voice* "One fantaboulous chapter with Briella's first high school experience. A bigger description of Briella's house will be with bargain. Edward Cullen *teen girls scream* will also be included. ALL THIS for the price of FIVE REVIEWS! FIVE REVIEWS PEOPLE! IT'S NOT LIKE I'M ASKING FOR A FORKIN ESSAY! One or two sentences will do. Hell, ONE WORD will do! Just review! Please?!"

Sorry for wasting your time with my meaningless babble. Teehee. ^_^ *yawns*

So ... I'll leave you to *cough* REVIEW *cough*! :D

Ronnie - who is a bit sad that her first fanfic is not getting much love. And is a tad bit dog tired. Ronnie is now heavily annoyed that she uses words that sound like 'tidbit' frequently. :)