Sweet as sugar in a bitter jar of gourd.
--Dane
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There was nothing left to be called mine.
When I was born, the immediate curse placed upon the head of an ignorant child was the hatred stemming from the bitter realization that such things as fate and destiny are irreversible—and trying to claim something that is not yours will bear nothing but misfortune. In a way, I was the symbol that a vampire’s lifeline will always find its other half.
Growing up as the weed which they feared to be revered if given enough time to flourish, I was hidden to the world and everyone, aside from my loving mother, and guilt-responsible father, see me as a glitch that should be removed from the sacred land of Mariana. In return of being forgotten, I had memories of nothing but the four walls of my
