Dazzling Darkness

Chapter 1

My name is Aranel Kyavin. It seems fitting, of course; an unusual name for an unusual girl. Most people can tell their nationality from their name to some extent. Me? Not a clue. I couldn’t tell you where I was born, only that I moved to Wisconsin when I was really young. It was that that made me wonder where my slight, almost British-but-not-quite accent came from if I’ve basically lived in the Midwest my whole life. Well, your guess is as good as mine was. 

Of course, I would have asked my parents, but they died when I was six, so I hardly even remember them, let alone the little details of my pretty lonely life. I was basically raised by my neighbor, Mrs. White. She’s an old, incredibly nice lady that lives down the road. When I was young she lived in my house with me, but about a year and a half ago she moved back to her home and left me here alone, which I guess I don’t really understand because my house could hold a good ten or more families. I’m used to being alone though. I guess that’s what happens when everyone at your school either thinks you’re a freak or doesn’t even acknowledge your existence. 

Fortunately, I only have one more year. I’ll be starting my senior year in a few days and then I’ll have freedom to do whatever I want. I’ll be eighteen in October, meaning I’ll have full legal right to all that was left to me when my parents passed (which, apart from the mansion, I heard was quite a lot). I haven’t really decided what I want to do with my life. I’ve honestly never really been able to think about it. It’s weird. I’ll try to think about college or picture myself in a lecture hall, but it’s impossible, it’s like my subconscious is trying to tell me that will never happen. Creepy, huh? 

chapter 2   —   updated May 06, 2011   —   3310 characters

BEEP BEEP BEEP!! 

I rolled over and looked at the clock – 6am. Ugh. It was the first day of school. I hated school. It wasn't the learning I hated, I liked the learning, it was the people. I’ve tried to make friends, I’ve tried to fit in, but no one has ever accepted me and it appeared they never would. I grew used to being by myself. It was probably better that way. I had to basically fend for myself my entire life. I was rarely if ever scared of the dark, I knew how to work hard, I was an incredible learner, and I wasn't afraid…of anything, really. Well, one thing…hormonal, conceited high schoolers. I shivered at the thought. 

I looked at my reflection in the floor length mirror in my room. 

“Look on the bright side,” I said to my reflection, “a few more months and you’ll never have to see these people again. How much worse could this year be than every other?” I was afraid of the possible answer to the question. 

I found my brush and ran it through my hair, not that it was really necessary. I’ve never had a haircut. Really, never. The fascinating thing was that my hair has always been perfect. The statement wasn't a case of arrogance either, it really was. My hair has always been long, black, thick, straight, and perfectly healthy. No split ends, oil, or brittle hair in sight. If I wanted to, I could literally go weeks without washing my hair and it would still look perfect every morning…not that I would do that though, I’m a fan of personal hygiene, but it’s true nonetheless. I’ve wondered about it sometimes, but I've given up, deciding that it's just freakishly good genes. 

I have never been a huge fan of makeup, I never really needed it, but I found my mascara and decided to apply some to my long lashes just because it was the first day of school. Every time I used mascara I was amazed. My lashes were long and dark as it was, but the mascara made them even more so, accentuating my already ridiculously blue eyes. The two things I've always loved about myself – my eyes and my hair. 

My eyes were a cross between an incredibly vibrant cobalt blue and cerulean. I never saw another color like them which added to my originality, or as others would have thought, my “freakishness.” I was about 5’7 and very slender – I swear I ate and ate, but I never gained an ounce. I had fair, almost porcelain skin, which provided such a stark contrast with my eyes and hair. I liked myself though. Even if the rest of the world thought I was a freak, I liked to think that I looked like my mother, who I could only picture as being beautiful.