‘Authorities in California are searching for 23-year-old Niamh McDonald, who was abducted from her home in San Francisco. The police have issued a statement pleading for any witnesses to come forward. They are speculating that one man knocked on the door of the family home on Thursday, around 9:30 a.m., to take Niamh; however, the authorities are still unsure as to what has exactly happened.’

I increase the volume on the TV whilst staring at the face of a young pale girl that the news presenter is talking about. I narrow my eyes, thinking that her dark hair doesn’t suit her. I should sympathise that she was kidnapped, but instead I worry more about her looks, rather than what’s happened to her. In the picture that was presented to the media, Niamh looks bored. Even from a distance, I notice her perfectly applied makeup and her light blue eyes. I take another spoonful of cereal and force it into my mouth. I chew mechanically, wondering if the presenters will be revealing more about this odd kidnapping in America. I sigh because Natasha walks into the kitchen and increases the volume on the TV. As soon as this story appeared on the news, Natasha cannot seem to stop following it.

‘The police are still investigating the details. They believe that Niamh is still alive, as the kidnapper is said to have demanded millions of dollars from Niamh’s wealthy parents for her release,’ continues a young blonde journalist.

I focus on the TV, hoping that the news will end soon enough and I can watch my favourite comedy show, but instead the TV continues to depict the wealthy house somewhere in California. From that point my mind wanders off, while Natasha is still staring at the TV, looking very intrigued. I try to take another spoon of my soggy cereal, but I change my mind instantly.

‘This is unbelievable. She is so young, almost the same age as you,’ says Natasha and looks at me, probably hoping that I will agree with her, but instead I ask:

‘How do you know?’

‘This story is all over the papers, Ania. Her father is some kind of famous politician in America,’ she shrugs impatiently.

I give her a stiff nod.

‘Anyway, it’s not healthy to start talking about such horrific stuff in the morning. What are you going to do today? You haven’t left your room in weeks; it’s time that you go out and do something with yourself. It’s summer for heaven’s sake.’

I stare at my cereal, wondering why I decided to go back to London to the woman who isn’t my real mother. Then I look at her for long moment, trying to choose the right words, but nothing relevant comes to my mind. I haven’t left my room since I came back and Natasha is still pretending that everything is fine, dissolving everything that has happened between us.

‘I am going to see Gosia today,’ I say, because she is expecting me to act normal and then she can finally leave me be.

‘Well, there you go. At least you won’t be stuck at home while I am at work,’ she murmurs, leaving the kitchen and switching off the TV.

This is what our interactions appear to be like these days. We don’t see each other often; Natasha is at work most of the time and if she has a spare minute, she visits Dmitry. She is not interfering anymore. Almost a month ago, my whole life stopped; within a year, I lost my mother, my best friend and the man I loved. My heart was ripped apart and even though time has resumed, it’s still in pieces.

After everything that has happened I couldn’t stay with Gosia; there would be too many unanswered questions. Natasha is trying to work things out between us, but our relationship is a pretence. She doesn’t want to admit that she was the one who lied all her life. I still haven’t forgiven her. I don’t want to fight with her. I have just accepted that she isn’t my mother any more. I put my bowl into the sink and ditch the idea of watching my favourite comedy.

Since my return, every single day seems to be tougher to go through. I spend most of my time in bed, trying to deal with my memories that are eating my soul. I have been avoiding Gosia. I just couldn’t explain what exactly happened and I didn’t want to lie any longer. I have switched my phone off for weeks and refused to talk to her. I have stayed buried in my room. Eventually, I agree to see her after weeks of not knowing what to do with myself. I've run out of excuses.

Natasha has stopped being herself as well. She is no longer concerned about me; she doesn’t interfere with my life. She probably believes that soon I will get back to the normal me, the one that I was before I moved to Swansea, before I lost my soul. I have stopped going through the events of the night that I lost the only man that I cared for. Technically he is still in this world, but he is somewhere between life and death. I still have the ability to see Sprites, but I refuse to go out because I can’t handle seeing any Sprites at this point; each one would remind me of Gabriel. Leaving the house would bring new feelings and I don’t know if I would be able to define what’s real. I am a coward, because I couldn’t decide if I could deal with the pain. Gabriel saved me, regardless of the consequences.

I walk into my room. My clothes and books are lying on the floor and used tissues are by my bedside cabinet; my room is in a total mess, reflecting my state in every way. Natasha hasn’t been in my room since I moved back. She doesn’t obstruct my life as she used to. I walk into the bathroom to take a quick shower, hoping that I can look like myself again.

Only after a month, I notice how much weight I have actually lost. I don’t seem to be the same person as I used to be. My skin is sallow; my eyes have lost the usual sparkle and I am even more insecure about my height. I feel and look unhappy. It takes ages to cover my misery with makeup. My subconscious keeps telling me that I have to eat, but I dismiss my rational side, as I always do.

It’s the end of July and in exactly two months I will have to go back to Swansea. For over a month now, I have been trying to understand why the red-haired Sprite wanted to kill me so much. Instead he murdered my best friend and harmed Gabriel. I remember almost everything; my memories reach the moment until I had to swim in the sea to save Gabriel’s soul. After that, I have a huge black hole in my head. I remember my conversation with Rose and her father; he couldn’t explain to me why I was the target. He didn’t know whom Maurice was, the red-haired Sprite who nearly succeeded. I still try to understand Richard’s involvement on the beach and his action that caused so much pain. He wasn’t himself when he murdered Herne during that unfaithful ritual, but I haven’t seen him since then and the police still haven’t got a clue who the real murderer was. The story about the gypsy woman being found on Oxwich beach was all over the papers and news. The brutal murder shocked everyone, but no one had seen anything during that day. I kept following the story, only praying that no one would find any clues. Richard vanished and he wouldn’t be that stupid to reveal that he was the one who slaughtered the poor gypsy woman who was only there to help.

As far as I know, he couldn’t remember anything. He was used by a mentally unstable Sprite who believed that I could help her to become an immortal human. I was certain that the woman who pretended to be my grandmother had lost her mind. She believed in the last changeling, the myth that Gabriel mentioned during the time that we were together. The story that everyone wanted to believe was just a legend.

When I am finally ready, I look at the mirror. I notice my baggy clothes. I used to be skinny, but now people may suspect that I starve myself just to be slim. My body has lost it shape completely and all my bones are sticking out. When I first arrived back in London, I didn’t believe that I could make it to the sunrise. My whole body refused food and drink; my heart seemed to stop, waiting for the arrival of death. Somehow I managed to retain myself and remained in my bedroom, unable to cope with reality.

I know that Gabriel isn’t dead, but I can't cope with knowing that he might never be able to wake up again. The guilt keeps stealing the life out of me, making me feel hopeless and unhappy. The ritual was easy; I just had to use the knife, but I was too scared to go through with it. Two people lost their lives because of me. I should have never asked Herne to help me and Amy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I open the door to my room, hoping that I am alone again. Only silence responds to me. Natasha left to go back to work and I probably won’t see her until tomorrow. I run downstairs and my hands are shaking when I put my jacket on. The feeling of anticipation enters my tangled mind. Today I have to leave the house for the first time since the day that I left Swansea.

Most of the Sprites that used to be around me are now aware that I can see them. My ability is my curse. None of them have dared to come inside the house so far, but once I am outside I can’t hide any longer. There will be nowhere to escape. Someone will be waiting for me. I attacked my last new guardian that was assigned to me, and I truly hope that it’s not him who I will see once I open the door.

I take a few deep breaths to prepare myself to face the reality; I am preparing for the unknown. The drops of sweat start gathering on my forehead while my heart beats faster. Panic strikes me. There is nothing else left, apart from my fear and hesitation. I place my hand on the handle and slowly I open the door to step outside into the sun. I look up at the beautiful blue sky, inhaling the air. It’s strange to see the sun and feel the warm weather. I narrow my eyes, trying to get used to the daylight that I have been avoiding like a vampire who stalks the night, fearing the sun. I look nervously around and I exhale with relief, as I do not notice any Sprites around me. Surprisingly, my neighbourhood looks quiet and unchanged at this time in the morning. I run to my car, squeezing my car keys in my hand. Something isn’t right; someone should be here waiting for me. When I almost think that I am safe, I hear the noise near me. They know. They will always know that I am leaving my hiding place.