My name doesn't matter and my existence doesn't either, I'm just a girl born in mysterious times, I have never known where I came from, never met my parents, I had no family, I'm basically ... no one.

Raised from one home to another, 12 last time I counted until I turned 18.

Now living on my own.

I had quite a life. My guardian said that 20 years ago on a stormy night filled with noises of thunder, she heard a strong knock on the front door. The knock was as loud as the thunder itself so she hurried her way outside and that's where I was, only a few days old, covered in a red velvet blanket with some strange golden embroidery on the sides. It looked ancient, very ancient and I wished it could talk to me and give me the answers I always longed for every time I look at it. 

Childhood :

I loved cotton candy, it was my favorite treat. I would ask for it every time I could. It's soft, it's sweet and it's light pink. Something about it always made me feel warm, the color maybe? It just seemed to trigger something inside of me.

The swings in the park next door in the late afternoons.

When all the kids are gone, when the sun is about to set, there was no one to take me home and make sure I did my homework and ate my dinner, that's when I liked to go there. When I'm sad when I'm happy. It was my favorite place.

Life at the orphanage and the different homes wasn't easy. Some were nice, some were mean and others were just ... creepy. I can say that by the age of 10, I have already seen it all. 

I was taken advantage of, working at some family businesses, in restaurants or bars, babysitting their kids, I witnessed fights over alcohol, drugs, money, and . They were getting paid for taking me inside their homes "Be grateful" they said "You're alive and breathing" and I was ... for some time until I realized I wasn't.

All I wanted was to be left alone.

No one has ever done something for the goodwill of their hearts. They always wanted something in return. Mostly the money they got for taking me in. But I never truly felt wanted.

School was my getaway ... at first. 

My few first years were fine, I had friends, I was good and then we just ... grew up. 

People around me started to understand where I came from. Some felt sorry for me, some dragged their children away from me. They didn't want them to be close to someone like me. And as we grew older, the world got harsh.

In high school I was isolated, I don't speak unless I was spoken to, I didn't look for trouble, I kept my distance because I knew very well that everyone else did the same ... but they kept a distance from only me.

At some point, I was called "Cursed" and "Unwanted" but I already knew that so it's fine by me. I lived my life knowing exactly what I was. Nothing. 

After graduating, I was finally old enough to move out on my own. 18 years old, 2 years ago. I started as a freelance writer. Articles, blogs, online magazines, anything I can find. And I was good at it. I could write anything from the comfort of my very own small apartment in this lonely neighborhood, which I really like.

Away from everything, everyone, the noises, the whispers ... the people. 

I locked myself in my home, and I created a bubble just for me. The way I like it. My little heaven. And I was okay. Until that one night.