Prologue

Prologue

Hello, my name is Brianna Starks, I mean "McAllister". It is still strange to be using a surname of a relative, until recently, I knew nothing about. I am probably confusing you so let me try to explain. When I was a baby, just 14 months old, my parents died in a horrible accident. Social services tried to find any relatives my parents might have had to no avail. So, I was put into the foster system in San Myshuno and passed around foster and group homes.

It wasn't easy for me growing up in foster care. Being a ward of the court isn't easy for any child, but it was especially harder for me. To this day I do not understand why I had such a hard time growing up. I was moved from house to house even when I was a baby. The longest I stayed in a home was four months. That stay was because there was no other openings for me and I was almost an adult. 

Foster children have emotional issues, and some do not learn how to handle social situations. Even with the emotional and social problems these kids go through they have a way of making friends at some level. No child wanted to be around me. It wasn't just the children. The adults wanted nothing to do with me as well. When a child or adult had to cross my path, they frequently gave me a wide berth and walked past as far away as they could. When someone was forced to walk to close to me, they normally did it quickly, shuddering as if they were near something that made them very uncomfortable. While foster parents had to "deal" with me, they made sure they did not have to be around me as much as possible.

When it came to meals in most houses generally, it was something simple a small child could make such as a bologna sandwich or cereal. The only time I ever got a home cooked meal was the first day I would go to a new foster home. The unsuspecting foster parents would open the door with high hopes and a big smile on their face. The moment they saw me, their smile would fall, and they would turn white as a ghost. Typically that first night I would be shown to my room and at dinner time a plate would be shoved into the room. By the time I was 6 I knew I would not be welcome around others so I would tentatively sneak out of my room and make something to eat, because often times the foster parents did not come near my room to bring me food. 

The one and only birthday present I was ever given was a used laptop. The foster mother, who had not met me before, found out that the day I was to be moved to her home was my fifteenth birthday. Before I got there, she had gone to a pawn shop and spent money on a used laptop. When I got to her house, her reaction was just like everyone else's. She wanted nothing to do with me and could't stand being near me. Since she could not take the gift back, she left it and a slice of birthday cake inside my bedroom. I didn't care if I was alone; I was so excited that I was given a birthday gift. I savored that piece of cake, the first I had ever tasted, while setting up my new laptop. I quickly learned that I was very savvy with computers and internet use and it did not take me long to be able to do anything on a computer.

Everyone being disgusted to be near you has its advantages. You tend to be left alone often. At one point I was left alone in my social worker's office for several hours. From being in the office often as the social worker found me replacement foster homes, I knew where she kept her files. I quickly found the file with my name on it and sat down for a long read. As I opened the file, several photos and a couple newspaper clippings fell out. I put these in my backpack for later. As I read through the reports about me, I quickly grew confused. I do not know why people treated me the way they did. 

I continually tried to figure it out so I could change whatever I was doing wrong. I thought if I could modify the issues I had, someone, one day, might be able to love me. I tried to watch the children who were being interacted with, the ones who got praises and hugs. I thought if I copied them I would be loved too. No matter whom I copied, it never changed. No one would come near me. I contemplated the reasons for a while. I watched shows when I could and learned from these shows that people who look different or look like monsters were treated the way I had been treated my whole life. I came to the conclusion that this must mean that I was grotesque looking. This devastated me because I could change the way I acted but I could not modify the way I looked. However, as I read my extensive file I started to realize I was wrong. In my file there was reports from most of my foster parents and they all basically said the same thing "Brianna is a beautiful well mannered child however, there is something terribly wrong about her".

When the social worker finally took me to the new foster home like usual I was left alone in the bedroom I had been assigned. When I was sure no one would come into the room, I slowly took out the pictures and newspaper clippings. The clippings were from the car accident that killed my parents. According to the news article my parents had been on their way to pick me up from the daycare facility when their vehicle exploded. The news report said it was faulty wiring that sparked a flame in the engine and caught gas fumes on fire; resulting in the explosion. before that day I knew nothing about my parents other then they had died. I learned everything from those articles.

I picked the pictures up not knowing what to expect and immediately found out they were pictures of my mom and dad. I couldn't hold back the tears. I had always wondered if my parents could stand to be near me. Kids teased me that my parents ran away from me because they didn't want to be near me either. In the pictures my parents were holding me, hugging me, kissing me. 

My parents loved me. I was loved. It was a concept I could not understand. For several months after seeing the pictures, I went through a period of rage. How could the only two people who could stand to be near me and who loved me be taken from me?

As I mentioned before, I often contemplated why I was hated by everyone so much. At one point I came to the conclusion that I must look so hideous that people did not want to be around me. I wondered if it was my thick auburn hair. I did not meet many people with red hair and even less with the vibrant red color that was mine. I dyed my hair once in my preteen years hoping if I covered the ruby locks with an ordinary color people would at least want to be around me; it only made me feel wrong. 

I also thought it might be my green eyes. My eyes are a emerald green that could turn jade if the light hit them just right. again green eyes are uncommon, so it was a possibility that the green of my eyes was unnerving to others. The problem with that thinking was my mother had the same green eyes. From what I found out about my mom, she was a much-loved person by everyone she met. 

On my eighteenth birthday, I was to be emancipated from foster care. I dreaded those months leading up to that day. Where would I go, what would I do? I had no reason to think it would be any different out of the foster system. I was going to be on my own and would have to figure out how to take care of myself financially. Since no one could stand to be near me, I was sure I would not be able to find a job. 

It turns out that I did not have to worry. On the day I turned eighteen, a letter addressed to me arrived. This letter explained that a great aunt of my mothers had recently passed away. They had been looking for me to inform me that I was the sole heir to this aunt's estate including her fortune. I threw everything I owned into my backpack and left Bridgeport for good. So here I am, on my way to fulfilling the stipulations and collect my inheritance.