Chapter 1

...He watches....

...Veiled in shadows....

...Cloaked in nightmares....

...And when she turns behind, he disappears....

...Because this is no man. This is not even a creature. This is a monster....

...Her monster....

...~•~...

She'd been staring at that dusty mirror for long enough.

Watching herself, a slim, slender figure fix and straighten her long green dress, movements sometimes slow, sometimes quick. Slow when she gets lost in some random thought, herself, quick when she thinks about how in the next few minutes, she'll say goodbye to place.

Apart from the azure eyes that shine with a whirl of anxiety and excitement, the necklace she's wearing glints and steals attention with a pendant that forms a letter she never found what it meant. She had been told it was a symbol of luck, but little had she believed that.

Not much told about her appearance yet. But it is said that eyes are the reflection of the soul. However, they never managed to draw much of attention from her or anyone else. It was always the milky-white pale skin, the hollow cheeks, thin lips, and of course, a deep prominent scar that ran down her left eyebrow and cheekbone. Most of the time, she managed to hide it with her chocolate locks, but the impact it made on her face was greatly noticable.

She took a deep breath. What everyone else thought didn't matter anymore to her. Not even other people calling her 'beautiful' and then bursting into laugher. It used to affect her much more when she was a little girl.

But as she thought about it, the bullying, the insults, it would not be genuine if she said she didn't entirely care. If she was that ugly, why give her unwanted attention? They had no other job, had they?

To say she disliked people was a small word. She loathed them. Not everyone, but most of them. They were selfish, wicked, and self-serving. While not directly harming her, she simply wasn't fine with the way the world tilted.

How much eccentric could a girl's mind be?

She didn't remember herself as little, didn't remember how she had gotten such a marred feature. Her aunt, Mrs. Miller, had told her that she had been a troublemaker, a little daredevil when she had been a small child. She had tripped and fallen face open on a rock, and the scar had remained since then.

"Regan, are you ready?" her aunt called from the other room, snapping the girl out of thoughts.

"I'm coming!" Regan shouted back, tearing her eyes away from the mirror.

She had packed everything and she had to leave now. The luggage was unzipped, a framed photo of her parents visible. It was one of the few references and memories she had of them.

They had died in a car accident, and she didn't remember much about them, not even their faces. Her childhood was vague, but the disdainful looks from the world weren't.

Regan bent down, casting a look at the picture.

The distinctive appearance she had was a stark contrast to that one of her parents. They had been tall, attractive people, and here she was the opposite. Not only that, her facial structure differed from theirs, as day over night.

A sigh escaped Regan's lips as she zipped the bag. She was just about to leave when the window suddenly slammed shut. Her eyebrows furrowed, she remembered closing before. For a millisecond, a weird sensation settled in the pit of her stomach, and she felt like her own shadow was watching her.

"The wind is strong today," Regan murmured to herself, eyeing the room once more to check if she had forgotten something. The air had seemed to grow with something eerie, but it was probably the anticipation of moving away.

Aunt Monica was waiting in the corridor with a gentle smile on her face. "You look nice, dear," she said, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Let's make sure we didn't forget anything."

Regan nodded.

Monica turned back quickly. They had been packing the night before. The new house her aunt had bought was in California, and Regan was excited for the change.

But the unease and intrusiveness whenever she did something new kept accompanying her.

The car ride was long, a blur of buildings slowly fading and opening into a painting of blue sky and brown soil. Regan couldn't shake the anxiety away.

It wasn't merely the anticipation, it was the uncanny feeling she had felt when that window had slammed shut. Her palms were sweating more than usually, and her eyes would occasionally glimpse back.

Why?

Nothing was following her.

She didn't like this place much anyway.

Taking a deep breath, she hoped her aunt wasn't noticing. She was used to hiding her anxiety in front of her aunt.

While Monica was a good person, Regan knew the perfectionist spirit of hers, her dislike of unconventional and unnecessary agitation. And to avoid it, she had grown up as a girl who'd appear quiet, wear a smile (but only around her aunt) and call it a day.

The hours passed, and they took breaks to eat and stretch. But Regan had no appetite, the usual travel sickness had made her almost throw up. The fresh air she had gotten when they had stopped by a gas station had been all what had kept her in line. But even there, the inexplicable feeling that something was off despite the sunny weather, had her tethered.

After what seemed like an eternity, a five-hour-long ride, they finally arrived at their destination.

It had become night already, the stars much more visible than in the urban neighborhood she had been living before. Temperature was high, the wind blew hotter.

Their new house was just like in the photos-a white bungalow with a light blue trim. The area was quiet, with only a few people walking by.

Regan took a deep breath as soon as she was out of the car, her mind rotating like a vortex. Monica parked the vehicle in front of the garage, and then pulled the bags out.

Regan helped her, heart racing with excitement despite the terrible ride and...and she didn't know how to refer to that unknown feeling.

The house was plain and simple, neatly kept, Monica's favorite. But it was good for Regan too. She hadn't hoped for some aristocratic manor.

Her aunt led upstairs and Regan began to unpack in her room. Her muscles ached, and her insides churned with nausea. She had to eat something solid, but she didn't want to bother her aunt.

The wooden floors cracked as she walked, and the walls were bare of any decorations. Her room had a balcony, the curtain swinging softly from the wind.

Regan gave up from unpacking all at once, just pushed her bags in the corner of the room. She didn't have many clothes, so she walked to Monica's room, watching her aunt, who had strictly placed her items in place.

She was organized about everything, while Regan couldn't keep a day without making her room a mess.

"So how does the house look?" Monica asked as she placed the last book on the highest shelf.

"It's pretty," Regan answered. She had to admit, it was refreshing, much better than their old apartment.

"Let's go downstairs and eat something. I've ordered pizza."

Regan nodded, desperate to get rid of the lump that had formed in her throat.

They stepped downstairs, to the small living room. The couches were a little scratched-the house's previous owners had probably kept cats.

She sat on the couch and leaned back, while her aunt turned on the TV, "Everything here works well," she approved.

"Yeah, it's a cool house," Regan replied, her mind somehow wandering to the apartment she had left behind, to that window which had closed so abruptly.

She didn't know why she was giving it so much thought. It was something that could happen to anyone. And it wasn't the window itself that made her mind reel.

It was that damn feeling that something was...wrong.

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