I was made beautiful. But being pretty comes with a price. Im not normal. I was created, made beautiful specifically, for one purpose, to be something, a killer. I was created to kill. Have you ever left your house and wondered whether you would ever see these people, your family, again? I'm seventeen and I have to think about this everyday of my life. Excerpt: My family had been moved to this town mid-way through the year before after we received news of disappearances. News of kids being found, cut up and placed back into shape in some remote, isolated back alley. News of teenagers splattered across buildings. Babies being taken and found weeks later half decomposed and rotting, bitten and torn, chewed raw in places. I thrived off action and adrenalin.